Counselor Undone (6 page)

Pondering his new
daily two-hour workouts and the woman who drove him to them, Michael strode
towards the elevator Thursday night. The faint sound of music interrupted his thoughts.
He lifted his wrist and noted eleven fifteen on the face of his TAG Heuer
watch. When he rounded the corner, he saw light streaming from Jordis’s office.
Why he’d passed this way tonight instead of taking his usual route to the
elevator—which took him in the opposite direction—he didn’t really
want to analyze at the moment nor the rush of exhilaration at the sight of her.

She sat at her desk
listening to a tune with a relaxed groove while she reviewed the documentation
in an open file folder. Her bare feet rested on the edge of her desk, bopping
in time with the music. She held the file propped on her knees. With her other
hand, she cradled a refillable twenty-ounce travel mug she sipped from absently
every few minutes.

He sat his briefcase
at his feet and leaned against her doorjamb. Those long legs enthralled him as
much as the first time he’d seen them. He noticed her toes were painted in a
French pedicure to match her fingers and even her bare feet looked sexy. Every
once in a while, she sang along under her breath with the female vocalist about
working what you’ve got. She hadn’t noticed him. He wondered how long it would
take. Until she did, he contented himself with watching her.

* * *

Jordis stilled.
Sensing a presence at the door, she slowly glanced up. Michael Remington stood
with his jacket pulled back, hands thrust in the pockets of his pants. The
stance accentuated how the tailored cut of his slacks caressed his muscular
thighs. Today, he’d paired a charcoal gray suit, possibly Gucci, with a soft
lilac shirt and a shiny silk tie in a deeper almost royal purple. Above his
square jaw and strong chin, his full lips pressed together as if he deeply
pondered something. He had the look of one of those brooding, sporty types
displayed in Armani or Dolce & Gabbana cologne ads.

Her breath caught in
her throat. She hoped Michael thought it was because he’d startled
her—which he had—but, in truth, her breathlessness was due more to
an unexpected kick of hormones than a frisson of fear.

“How long have you
been standing there?” She grabbed a small remote off her desk and pointed it
towards her music player to quiet Mary J. Blige.

“Long enough.” He
slid his fingers through his hair, giving it a tousled look.

Jordis’s eyes
followed the movement. She’d seen him do the same during the team meeting. Now,
like then, she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through that
thick, coffee-brown mass.

Something about
Michael Remington exuded sexual energy. She was uncomfortably aware of him as a
man and that wasn’t good. When she’d spied him at her door, a soft
mmm mmm
had reverberated through her head. She’d had a similar reaction when he’d
walked into the briefing meeting three days ago. He had a swagger to his walk
she didn’t usually associate with men of his background. When he’d approached
her in the conference room, all her girly parts had started to vibrate.

She’d convinced
herself her reaction stemmed only from objective appreciation for a beautiful
male specimen. Like admiring a male model in a magazine ad, you could look all
you wanted, but you knew you’d never actually touch. Then she’d caught him staring
at her legs during her tête-à-tête with Eric Covington. It had taken every
ounce of her self-control to stay on point with Eric and keep her voice from
reflecting the tremors in her belly set off by Michael Remington’s perusal.

She no longer
believed what she experienced when seeing the partner qualified as simple
aesthetic appreciation. Those girly parts were vibrating again, and she needed
to cut it out. He was one of her supervising attorneys for Pete’s sake.

Michael walked to
her desk and picked up the file folder she’d sat aside. “You know, I’m usually
the last one out of the office at night. It’s after eleven o’clock . . .” His
last sentence trailed off in a distracted manner.

A rough clearing of
his throat caught her attention. His eyes focused on her lap while he rubbed a
hand over the back of his neck. A quick look down by Jordis revealed her
unladylike position hiked her brown pencil skirt past mid-thigh. Heat of
embarrassment climbed up her neck. Heat of another kind crept down her belly
and radiated through her lower abdomen. Jordis quickly put her feet on the
floor and adjusted her skirt.

Michael averted his
gaze while she slid her feet into a pair of brown three-inch leather platform
pumps with ankle straps. “What are you still doing here?” he finally asked.

“Chase made me lead
counsel on the Gardner pro bono case.” She leaned from her chair to buckle one
of her shoes. “Since I’ve got a deposition tomorrow on my trademark infringement
case, I wanted to get up to speed today because I’m meeting with Miss Gardner
the day after that.”

His eyes moved from
the contents of the file to her face. “That’s Saturday.”

She smiled. “Yes,
sir. I’m well aware of the weekly calendar.”

An odd intensity
darkened his eyes. “That’s good to know . . .
ma’am
.”

He said it with a
straight face, but Jordis sensed his facetiousness. She never would have
suspected he had a sense of humor. He seemed so straight-laced and buttoned up.

“The client works
weekdays and has to collect her child from daycare by a certain time every
night. I didn’t want her to have to miss time at work to meet with me or have
to pay someone to watch her child. She has enough challenges without it costing
her money to meet with lawyers who are supposed to be helping her for free.
Saturday afternoon worked best for her schedule, and this way, she can bring
the child with her.”

She rose to pack up.
She took the pro bono file from his grasp and placed it in her designer Michael
Kors
MK
signature tote. When she reached for the chocolate brown suit
jacket that coordinated with her skirt, Michael stepped around the desk to help
her. The gesture caught her off guard. She hesitated before allowing him to
assist her.

He slid the jacket
onto her shoulders, and his knuckles brushed her silky white blouse. As his
hands fell away, he fingered a length of her hair. Jordis started. A warm
tingle sizzled from his fingertips up through her scalp. Her gaze snapped over
her shoulder. His eyes met hers and held while time suspended itself.

An eternity of
awareness passed between them in the mere second it took Michael to take a
quick step back. He frowned. From the look on his face, he’d surprised himself
as much as her.

Looking away, he
shoved his hands in his pocket. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Jordis turned. An
odd sensation tugged at her, stemming from the coincidence of him caressing her
hair when moments earlier she’d daydreamed about what it would feel like to run
her fingers through his. She tamped down the emotion. “That’s not necessary.”

The clipped tone of
his offer made it less than appealing. She didn’t think he really wanted to
walk her to her car.

“Yes, it is. The
parking garage will be abandoned this time of night.”

“Security
will—”

“I’m your security
for tonight.” His jaws tightened into a don’t-argue-with-me position.

She stared at him.
From the moment he’d touched her hair, his demeanor had gone short and gruff.
What was his problem?

He headed for the
door and picked up his briefcase. “If you’re ever here this late by yourself
again, make sure someone walks you to your car. The security desk is too far
from the garage for them to be of much help if someone decides to make mischief.”

He waited for her to
respond.

She made her way to
the door, annoyed by his demeanor and his tone. “You know, I’m a big girl
and—”

“Yes . . . you
are
.”
He gave her a long, slow perusal, making it clear he appreciated all the grown
parts of her. When his eyes made it back to hers, he stepped to her, placed his
hand at the base of her throat, and rubbed his thumb along the line of her jaw.
In her three-inch heels, she could nearly look him directly in the eyes. His
voice dropped to a bedroom whisper. “But you do realize big girls get accosted
all the time?”

His
cologne—something woodsy and seductive—seemed familiar as it
permeated Jordis’s senses and stirred her underworked sex drive. Those magnetic
gray eyes held her, and her heart began to pound. Self-preservation mandated
she step away from him, but she couldn’t get her legs to move. She had an
inkling of what a Cobra’s prey must feel like, held paralyzed by eyes that
hypnotize even knowing a fatal strike was imminent.

“I expect you to be
careful. No case is worth your safety. Okay?”

She wanted to tell
him to stop treating her like an idiot; that, of course, she paid attention to
her safety when she left the building. That’s what she would normally have
done. She didn’t like being told what to do by anyone, let alone by bossy macho
types. Right now, however, she struggled to keep her concentration on something
other than his lips. Their shape fascinated her. When he spoke, they were
almost sensuous in movement.

As she became
conscious of her thoughts, warning bells clanged loudly in her head. Having a
pissing contest with her boss about safety precautions late at night seemed
foolish when a whole other dynamic appeared to be at play. She needed to end
this confrontation before she did something stupid, like lean up and press her
lips against his.

“Okay,” she agreed
in a voice softer than she intended.

His gray eyes
darkened to the color of cumulous clouds. Her voice had come out breathy and
flirty. The thought made her cringe internally. She didn’t do breathy and
flirty. What was this guy doing to her?

Michael held her
gaze for a long moment, his thumb rubbing seductively against her skin. When
his eyes dropped to her lips and then to the pulse beating rapidly at the base
of her throat, she broke contact and reached down for her tote.

His expression
shuttered. He mumbled, “I’ll take that.” He lifted the bag from her and merged
it into his left hand with his own briefcase. “Let’s go.” He placed his free
hand at the small of her back.

After the moment
they’d just shared, they were both acutely aware of the location of his hand.
Jordis looked over at him after a few steps. She wondered why he continued to
guide her along, but she didn’t shake off his touch. The depth of color in his
darkened eyes gave him a smoldering look that sent waves of adrenaline pulsing
through her veins. She felt like the protagonist in one of those thrillers she
liked to watch on television. She had the sense ominous music should be playing
in the background, the kind that presaged getting into tight
quarters—like an elevator—alone with him might be a colossal
mistake.

When they reached the elevator bay, Michael removed his hand
from Jordis’s back to push the
Down
button. Although he no longer touched her, the ghost of his hand lingered along
her back. He didn’t speak. He stood quietly at her side staring straight ahead.
Jordis didn’t speak either, too busy trying to make sense of the odd current
that had passed between them back at her office.

She thought about the look in his eyes when he’d caressed
her face. He hadn’t tried to kiss her, but she’d gotten the impression he’d
wanted to. But that was ridiculous, right? Michael Remington didn’t do office
romances. The talk around the office made that clear.

The elevator arrived, and they stepped in together. Michael
continued his silence. Jordis continued her silent musings about him. They’d
known each other for only a few days. How had he managed to get under her skin
with no more than a few touches and a challenging look from those hypnotic gray
eyes?

Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. This pull stemmed from more
than his physical appearance or a few touches. The guy intrigued her. He had
from the moment he’d walked into the conference room three days ago. Since
then, she’d run into him in the hall a few times and finished a research memorandum
for one of his cases on appeal. Reviewing the file for that case had added to
the admiration she’d already developed for his courtroom style. The man wrote
one hell of a brief. His written legal work stood in equal measure with his
courtroom flair.

Uh-oh. Personal curiosity, physical attraction, and
professional admiration.
This
could not be happening. She was not developing a thing for a guy at work . . .
and a white guy at that. Was she out of her mind?

Jordis glanced at Michael. She’d learned to thrive in the
predominantly white school and work environment she’d been immersed in since
her days at the all-girl college prep high school her mother insisted she
attend, but she’d never dated outside her race. If she were going to start, now
was not the time to develop an appreciation for tall, vanilla swagger. Well,
given his luscious olive skin tone, maybe he was more like butter toffee
swagger. Either way, a fling with a senior partner, even one—especially
one—as sexy as Michael Remington was definitely not in the cards.

Nothing undermined a female lawyer’s credibility in the
office quicker than talk she slept around with fellow associates. Carrying on
with a senior partner? That constituted premeditated reputation suicide, a
quick way to get herself labeled an opportunist set on sleeping her way to the
top.

As if sensing her pensive mood, Michael slowly turned to
face her. “Something wrong?” His deep baritone voice reverberated within the
steel box of the elevator.

Warmth poured from his gaze. The look in his eyes made her
senses prickle with apprehension. “No.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Her pitchy tone belied her calm outward appearance.

His eyes cruised heatedly down the length of her body, and
she hoped that wasn’t the answer to her question.

“Like you’re considering . . . the possibilities?”

He took a step in her direction, as if propelled by a force
outside himself. His movement caused a waft of his cologne to drift over her,
and she was once again struck by the thought the fragrance was familiar. That
prickly feeling intensified.

She took a measured step backwards.

Michael continued to advance, and she continued her slow
backstep until the wall of the elevator interrupted her retreat. Michael’s eyes
focused on her mouth. He reached for her and slid his thumb across her bottom
lip. Jordis closed her eyes against the influx of arousal coursing through her.

“Michael,” she whispered before she opened her eyes, “this
isn’t a good idea.”

“I know,” he replied right before he touched his mouth to
hers.

Jordis stilled herself, bracing for a forceful, passionate
kiss, but Michael took her mouth nice and slow. His gentle lips tested,
searched. The unexpected tenderness short-circuited her defenses. Unprepared
for the sweetness of his mouth or the seductive current flowing from the
fingertips he brushed along her neck and jaw, she melted.

When he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips, it felt
like the most natural thing in the world for her to open to him. He murmured
softly in response. A distance thud signaled he’d dropped their briefcases. She
wrapped her arms around his neck without conscious thought. He accepted her
embrace as an invitation to take the kiss deeper and his exploration further.

The hand at her jawline slid down her neck and kept
southbound until his palm slid inside her jacket to rub a beaded nipple through
her blouse. Michael’s other hand slid around her waist to rest at the small of
her back. He pulled her hips tight against him. Heat pooled between Jordis’s
thighs and simmered under her skin. She had the sudden urge to remove her
jacket . . . and her blouse . . . and everything else to release the blaze
engulfing her. More importantly, she had an urge to remove the jacket, shirt
and—oh, yeah—just about everything else off Mr. Future Managing
Partner to see if he looked half as good without his clothes as he did in them.

Michael must have been thinking along similar lines because
a sudden burst of cool air blew across her chest. He’d undone the top two
buttons of her blouse without her noticing. Where his hand played along the
curve of breast displayed above her demi bra, her skin flared hot. Everywhere
else, she had goose bumps.

She moaned. His manhood went from semi-erect to rock hard
instantly. He broke their kiss, emitting a sound between a growl and a groan,
and transferred his touch from her breast to the wall above her head. The hand
at her back slid to rest on the side of her waist. The relaxed hold removed her
core from direct contact with his arousal, but she knew his physical state.
She’d felt the evidence of his virility the instant it rose.

Michael looked into her eyes, fighting some battle with
himself. She stared back at him, knowing she could halt the ardor happening
between them with one word. Yet, that word wouldn’t come to her lips. She came
to the uncomfortable realization a part of her didn’t want the encounter to
stop.

* * *

Michael watched as Jordis’s eye color shifted to a deep
forest green and her pupils dilated. Her lips parted a half second later, and
the thoughts he’d been warring with fled his mind. He pressed himself against
her, bending his knees slightly so his shaft fit in that perfect spot at the
juncture of her thighs. He rested there, relishing the feel of her against him.
He wanted her desperately. The sexual current between them sparked intense,
volatile, but he wanted more from her than just sex. He wished he could absorb
her through his skin until he knew her completely inside and out.

He’d watched her all week. Sharp and always on point when
analyzing a legal issue, her intelligence made the outer package that much more
attractive. She always appeared to be in a good mood, her behavior surprisingly
courteous and polite to everyone including the support and janitorial staff,
but she accepted no foolishness or disrespect.

The interesting dichotomy of the woman fascinated him. Add
to that her sensitivity in putting the needs of a down-on-her-luck single mom
ahead of her drive to bill hours or whatever weekend plans she could have made,
and he was in a whole mess of trouble. He’d been drawn to her looks and legal
acumen on a conscious level, but a connection this strong had to come from
someplace deeper. How could he fight an attraction that was turning out to be
so much more than physical, especially if he allowed his physical needs to dominate
his interactions with her?

The voice of his mystery woman resounded in his head:
Something
tells me that after tonight, we’d be hard pressed to rewind to
getting-to-know-you drinks or dinner and a movie.
Perhaps she’d imparted a
lesson he needed to heed. Wasn’t he about to make the same mistake?

Michael fought his urge to devour Jordis. Indecision flitted
through her eyes. They needed to downshift.

She wrapped a finger through the belt loops on either side
of his pants to steady herself. Her grasp shifted him slightly, causing his
erection to rub against the
V
shielding the pleasure point beneath her
pubic bones. A look of intimate bliss flitted across her face. Her eyes closed,
and her head fell back against the wall. An odd sound squeezed from her throat.
The sound whipped him mentally back onto a night-shrouded balcony where another
woman had made a similar sound.

Juliet?

Jordis’s eyes flitted open.

Had he said that name out loud? Michael was searching her
face for some clue she’d heard and recognized the name when the elevator
bounced to a stop with an annoying ping.

He quickly stepped back.

Saved by the bell
, he
thought. But who had been saved—her or him?

Jordis rebuttoned her blouse with fast, adept fingers. The
elevator door slid open with a hydraulic hiss, quelling the mood inside the
elevator. Michael picked up their briefcases and placed his hand against the retracted
door, waiting for Jordis to exit. His eyes strayed to a round black recessed
globe in the upper right corner of the elevator. He did a double take.
Shit.

Jordis moved past him without making eye contact and headed
for the glass doors leading from the elevator bay.

The parking garage had that eerie glow that came from low
wattage florescent light bouncing off grayish concrete walls, pillars and
floors. Very little traffic cruised this part of the city late at night so
quiet hovered around them despite the garage’s open access to the adjacent
two-way street.

Stepping into the lowest level of the five-story structure,
Michael scanned the parking garage and noticed a Dodge Charger SRT SuperBee in
vibrant orange parked to his right. He allowed his eyes to glide over the racy
sports car in appreciation before moving on to the silver Lexus SUV parked two
spots closer. Michael headed for the Lexus, the only other vehicle visible
inside the garage besides his black Lincoln Navigator. The sound of Jordis’s
heels striking the concrete floor echoed through the garage, punctuating the
noticeable lack of conversation between them.

When they reached the driver’s side door of the Lexus,
Michael turned towards her and extended his hand.

She looked blankly at him.

“Keys?”

Without taking her eyes from his, Jordis reached into her
jacket pocket and pulled out her key fob. She leaned forward, bypassing his
outstretched hand, as if to unlock the door. At the last second, she turned the
fob towards the Charger and hit the automatic unlock button.

When the Charger’s lights blinked in concert with a pitched
mechanical beep, Michael’s eyes widened. “She’s yours?”

“She?”

Michael shrugged. “With a body like that, every man on the
planet would consider that Bee to be a woman.”

He’d driven the Navigator today instead of his Jag because
the forecast had included a chance of snow. Even though he drove a foreign
sports car, he loved a good ole American muscle car. In fact, he had a classic
‘69 Camaro, which had belonged to his father, at home in his four-car garage.

Jordis’s SuperBee was a thing of beauty, and it suited her
right down to the sassy color. It had sleek lines, strong curves, and lots of
power under a pretty hood.

Jordis walked to the Charger and opened the door. Michael
recognized the move as a blatant display of independence.

He followed her into the triangle of the open car door. His
eyes searched hers, trying to decipher her hidden thoughts. The unreadable look
on her face made him sigh.

“Look, Jordis, about what just happened . . .” He stood in a
quandary. That he’d kissed her raised a myriad issues they needed to address,
but, selfishly, he held another topic uppermost in his mind.
How did you ask
a colleague if she’d made out with you anonymously on New Year’s Eve?

“Don’t.” She placed her hand against his chest.

A jolt shot through him from the spot where she rested her
palm. She snatched her hand away and quickstepped back.

He looked down; she scrubbed the offending hand absently
against the side of her skirt. He’d bet she’d felt it, too. “We need to talk
about it.”

“No, we don’t. We made a mistake. We both know it shouldn’t
have happened.” She moved to get in her car, but he blocked her way. She heaved
a sigh. “You’re my supervising attorney, Michael. It can’t happen again. I
think we both can agree on that. So, let’s just forget about it and move on.”

He stared at her for a minute. He wanted to explore why
kissing her had triggered a memory of New Year’s Eve. More than a simple kiss
had transpired between them. Pretending it hadn’t happened didn’t seem the way
to go, but the parking garage late at night probably wasn’t the best place for
the discussion. So, despite his burning question, he stepped aside.

Jordis lowered herself into the driver’s seat, and his eyes
followed her skirt’s rise up her thighs. The exposure of more of those long
golden legs exacerbated the lingering discomfort in his pants. He rubbed a hand
across the back of his neck, fighting the urge to pull her from the car and
pursue the matter.