Everything for Us (A Bad Boys Novel) (22 page)

THIRTY-SIX

Marissa

I circle my shoulders as much as I can within the confines of my seatbelt. The tension of the day hasn’t quite drained away yet. Sometimes it takes a couple of hours of being at home to fully relax. Sometimes it takes a couple of glasses of wine, too. Or a hot bath, a little time, and a little wine. I’ve discovered that’s like the distress trifecta. And tonight may require those more extreme measures.

The trial is going well, but it’s incredibly intense. Much more so than what I ever expected. In the beginning, it was more procedural, nothing exciting like you see on television. But now that we’ve gotten into testimony and cross-examination, it’s not only more interesting, but it also calls for a deft touch when it comes to strategy.

Needless to say, I let Jensen handle most of that.

He’s doing a great job. It’s easy to see how he’s risen so far so fast within the DA’s office. He’s exceptionally bright and intuitive when it comes to the law and how to finesse witnesses. It’s pretty impressive to watch.

After I park and drag my briefcase from the passenger seat, I make my way to the front door. I slide the key into the lock and push the door open. A little sliver of fear skitters down my spine. It’s not nearly as bad as it used to be. But it’s still there. I wonder if it always will be.

That’s one of two things that has refused to leave me since the time around my abduction. The echo of fear is number one. Nash is number two. And not necessarily in that order.

The fear of someone grabbing me abates within a few minutes of being in my house, with it settling quietly around me. Missing Nash—seeing his face, hearing his voice, smelling his clean, manly scent—that sometimes haunts me all night long. When I’m here, in the place I knew him so intimately, I don’t get very many peaceful moments. His memory is with me almost constantly. It’s one of the many reasons this case has been so cathartic. In a way, I dread for it to be over. But, like all good things, it must come to an end.

With a sigh, I start peeling off clothes as I make my way to the bedroom. I’ve just slipped on some silky pajama shorts when the doorbell rings.

My pulse stutters and I hurriedly pull on the matching shirt and grab my robe from the back of the bathroom door as I rush to see who’s calling at such a late hour.

Several of us met for dinner and drinks after court tonight. It’s well after nine now, an odd time for anyone to visit unannounced.

I lean in to look through the peephole to see Jensen’s face looking comical in that walleye way.

I pull the chain and open the locks.

“What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

Jensen is smiling broadly. Maybe too broadly.

“I just had a thought. May I come in?”

I pull my robe more tightly around me. “Of course.”

I step back and let him pass me, then close the door behind him. He doesn’t walk far, which puts me practically right on top of him when I turn toward him.

“What’s up?” I ask, leaning back against the door so I can get some extra space.

“You
do
realize that we’re going to win this, right? And that our careers will skyrocket, right? And that the world of Georgia law . . . hell, the world of law
period
will be our oyster, right?”

I smile. “How many drinks did you have tonight?”

“I’m not drunk,” he says happily. “Well, maybe a little, but not
too
drunk.” Jensen takes a step toward me, the look in his eyes changing to something I’m unfortunately familiar with.

He looks like a man who’s not here to take no for an answer.

“Jensen—”

“Shhh,” he whispers, cutting me off with a fingertip to my lips. “Let me show you how good we can be together
outside
the courtroom.” He brushes the hair away from my face, his eyes boring hot holes into mine. “I know you feel it, too. We’ve got some kick-ass chemistry.”

“Professionally, yes.”

“But not
just
professionally. I think you’re incredibly beautiful, Marissa. You’re smart and funny and so,
so
sexy.”

As if to accentuate his point, he lets his finger trail down my chin and into the valley between my breasts.

“Um, I think it’s probably time you left,” I say, trying to keep my composure. I can’t risk harming the case in any way by making waves with Jensen. He’s right. We
are
good together. And we need to keep being good together until this is done. It’s too important to screw it up now.

“One kiss. Give me one kiss and if you tell me you feel nothing, I’ll go.” I really don’t want to, and I’m afraid kissing him will only further inflame him. But if he’s the nice guy he normally is even when he’s drunk, he might honor his agreement and just go. Peaceably.

So I chance it.

It’s worth it.

For Nash.

I nod and Jensen smiles. Slowly, he runs his hands up into the hair at the back of my head and leans in closer to me.

Like a ghost that refuses to leave, Nash’s face flits behind my eyes as my lids drift shut. If only the kiss of another man could make me forget. If only . . .

Jensen’s lips are warm and firm. He’s not too aggressive or too slobbery or too . . . anything. He’s actually a very good kisser. But, as adept as he is, it makes no difference. There’s just no sizzle, no bang. No fireworks. There’s only one pair of lips that can bring those. And they don’t belong to Jensen.

I feel the pressure of his tongue trying to get past my lips. I resist until he becomes really insistent, and then I part my lips, allowing his tongue inside for just a minute before I have to turn my head away.

That was
way
too much
!

“Jensen, I think you’ve made your point. Now, how ’bout you go sleep it off and, come Monday, we’ll pretend this didn’t even happen, okay?”

From my peripheral vision, I see him pull his head back a little. I turn just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark with passion, the pupils huge inside the pale blue irises. In them, I see a debate. He wants to press me, to press the issue. But something is holding him back.

“That was a great kiss, Jensen. It’s not that. And it’s not you. It’s . . . it’s . . . someone else.”

That gets his attention. He pulls back further, frowning. “Who? Nash?”

“N-no,” I say, only because it’s not the Nash he’s thinking of.

“Then who?”

I can’t think of a convincing lie quickly enough, so I go with the truth. “His brother.”

“You’re kidding, right?” When I don’t respond, he laughs, a short, bitter bark. “Oh my God. The guy that looks like he spent time in the same cell with his dad? That guy?”

“Jensen, don’t be mean.”

“Are you telling me I’m wrong? He looks like a career felon.”

That gets my ire up. I push at his chest until he moves back, giving me some space. “Well, he’s not, so maybe you should keep your shallow opinion to yourself.”

I slide out from between Jensen and the door, walking into the living room before turning to face him.

“You can do so much better than him. For God’s sake, Marissa, come on!”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You know what, Jensen? You couldn’t be more wrong. He’s one of the greatest men I’ve ever known, long hair and all. Why do you think I’m fighting so hard to win this case?”

“I heard you had some personal interest in it, like
really
personal. But it was hush-hush and I figured you’d get around to telling me eventually.”

I’m so glad now that I didn’t.

“Oh it’s personal, all right,” I say, letting the statement sound suggestive, hoping that will be enough to kill his attraction to me. Maybe if he thinks I’ve got a thing for slummin’ it, he’ll deem me unworthy of a man like him and leave me alone. “I happen to like a man with some ink and some scruff. I think it’s pretty hot.”

All right, that might’ve been laying it on a bit thick.

I cringe inwardly, praying it wasn’t too much.

With an exasperated shake of his head, Jensen gives me a look and backs toward the door.

“I guess you’re right. Looks like our good chemistry stops on the courthouse steps.”

I raise my chin a notch, but say nothing.

“Good night, Marissa.”

“Good night, Jensen,” I say, waiting until I hear his footsteps on the sidewalk before I go and snap the deadbolt closed on the door. “Good riddance, Jensen,” I whisper, cutting off the light and heading for my bedroom once more.

Twenty minutes later, as I’m sliding between the sheets, the bed has never felt bigger. Or colder. Or more empty.

And neither has my heart.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Nash

Another month later

She’s very attractive, the girl who’s dancing for me. And she’s very obviously attract
ed
. Clubs in Italy are not much different than they are anywhere else in the world.

This girl is blond, which isn’t as common in this country. That’s probably why I continue to watch her. She reminds me of what I miss most. Of
who
I miss most.

I’d give anything to stop thinking about Marissa. This is the umpteenth time I’ve attempted to drown out her memory in someone else. So far, it hasn’t worked. And judging by the halfhearted reaction in my jeans, this time won’t be any different.

I’m sure I could do the deed. I’m a guy; that’s not normally a problem unless there’s too much alcohol on board. No, it’s not the physical inability to go through with it. It’s the emotional one. Everything else gets in the way. My head, my heart, and the fact that I just don’t really want to.

Willfully, I bring my attention back to the action on the dance floor. The girl, the blond one I’ve been watching, runs her hand down her friend’s arm, pausing just long enough at her plump breast to be suggestive. Her eyes are on mine, though. And the invitation is clear. Even when I look at her friend, the dark-haired one, I know I could have them both if I did so much as nod my head toward the door. I sigh into my drink.

But I won’t. I won’t motion for them to follow me when I leave. And I won’t be bothered if they turn their attention toward someone else. No, tonight the only company I’ll be keeping will be a bottle.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Marissa

Olivia’s eyes are wide with surprise. “Are you kidding me? That’s great news! Why aren’t you more excited?”

I shrug. I’m sitting with her at the club. It’s the middle of the day on a Saturday, so we’re alone. “I am, I just . . .”

When I don’t continue, she reaches out and grabs my hand. “You just what?”

I feel my chin begin to tremble. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do now. It’s almost over.”

“But that’s a good thing. We can all finally move on. And you, you’ll have so many career options your head will spin.”

“I know. And that’s great, but I’m just not sure this is what I want to do.”

“What? Prosecute huge cases and make the world a better place? Or practice law at all?”

I shrug again. I don’t really mean to do it. It’s almost automatic, as though my body can’t resist an outward manifestation of the ambivalence that’s churning inside me.

“Both, I guess. But it’s not just that.”

“Then what? What is it? Did something happen with your dad?”

I’ve been keeping Olivia up to date on all the drama with my father. He basically disowned me when he saw that I was actually going through with the prosecution. But then, once we started making good progress and the press started to get involved and people began to see how much good we were trying to do by locking these guys up, he changed his tune. Suddenly I was worth his time. Suddenly he sees a bright future in politics
for me
.

That was when I stopped taking his calls. He’ll never want me just for me. He’ll always see me as a means to an end. Or a project of some sort. Or maybe a family trophy. Who knows?

That is, of course, when he doesn’t see me as an embarrassment.

“No, I haven’t talked to him lately. It’s . . . it’s just . . .”

My eyes sting as the tears rush in. I look down at my hand where it rests in Olivia’s, blinking as rapidly as I can to keep from having some sort of hysterical fit.

“Tell me,” Olivia prompts softly.

“I feel like this is the last little bit of Nash I have, like once this is over, he’ll be out of my life completely. Forever. I think I’ve been doing this for him more than anything else. I wanted him to be free of all that anger and bitterness. I wanted him to be able to move on and have a happy life.”

Before I can continue, Olivia finishes my thought as if she could read my mind.

“And you thought he’d move on to that happy life with you.”

To hear that hope spoken aloud and to know that, little by little, day by day, it has been disappearing is almost more than I can bear. It makes it too real, too final.

With one involuntary gasp, the floodgates open and all the pain I’ve felt over the loss of Nash comes rushing out in deep, soul-wrenching sobs.

“I-I-I thought he’d c-c-come back,” I sputter as Olivia comes off her bar stool and gathers me into her arms. I lay my head on her shoulder and I cry. And I cry. And I cry. I cry until there’s nothing left.

Olivia doesn’t move a muscle, other than to stroke my hair. Finally, I pull back from her to reach into my purse for a tissue.

“I’m sorry,” I sniffle before blowing my nose. “I guess that’s been a long time coming.”

Olivia sits back down, her expression sad. “To be honest, I thought he’d come back, too. I really, really did. It was obvious he had feelings for you. I think he’s just too screwed up to know what to do about them.”

“We just didn’t have enough time. And now we never will. I just thought . . . I had hoped . . .” I swallow back the sob that rises into my throat. I’ve cried on Olivia’s shoulder—literally—enough for one day. “But I’m a big girl,” I say, sitting up a little straighter. I need to put on a brave face and put this behind me. At least outwardly. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to really do that on an emotional level. At least not completely. “It’s time I figure out what I’m going to do with my life and get to it. I’m not getting any younger.”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “Because twenty-seven is
so old
.”

“Twenty-eight,” I say automatically.

“What? Twenty-eight? I thought . . .” I see her forehead wrinkle as she thinks our ages through. Her eyes round when she realizes I’m right. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod! We missed your birthday!”

She covers her mouth with her hands like she cursed in front of a priest. I can’t help but smile. To me, this is no big deal. But to Olivia, it’s tantamount to burning my house down.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Of
course
it’s a big deal! How could this happen? How could I not know?”

I shrug again. It’s the story of my life lately. One big shrug of ambivalence. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve been fussed over on my birthday for most of my life. You know, to keep up appearances and all.” It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “It was kinda nice to be anonymous that day. I didn’t really feel like celebrating.”

And I didn’t. The only thing I really wanted was for Nash to come back. Or even to call and tell me he missed me. But that didn’t happen. After that, no amount of presents or parties or birthday wishes could’ve salvaged that day. That being the case, I figured it was just best that no one knew.

The look on Olivia’s face assures me that she understands all that I’m saying
and
all that I’m not. She gives both my shoulders a squeeze. “It’ll get better, you know.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement. And I
do
know that. I think. It’s just that, at the moment, it doesn’t feel like the dull ache in my chest will ever go away.