Winning Her Over (6 page)

She responded in kind, looking up at him through the dark fringe of her lashes. “How would you like me to thank you?”

He grinned. “Orally is fine,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What?” She reared back in shock.

“Someone’s got a dirty mind.” Shaking his head, he leaned toward her. His smile broadened. “I just meant that you could use words.”

He only caught a glimpse of the color flooding her cheeks before she buried her face in her hands.

“Oh, God.” She sounded endearingly, miserably muffled. “I think I need to go home now.”

If the table had been smaller—and if he’d known her better—he would have cupped a reassuring hand under her jaw. But it wasn’t, and he didn’t, so he’d have to use words, too.

“Hey,” he said. “No need for that. This has been fun.”

In fact, this meal with Brenna contrasted starkly with the rest of his life, which had been nearly 100 percent devoid of anything other than work for quite some time. Then and there, Cal resolved to change that.

After
he made partner.

“Haven’t you had a good time?” he asked.

Her hands fell away and she looked up at him, still adorably pink-cheeked. “Up to the point when I died of mortification, yes.”

“Look.” He held her gaze. “We can call it a night, if that’s what you want. But I’m happy to grab some coffee, or a drink, if you want to keep going.” And he’d go right along with her, as long and as far as she’d let him. Even though what he
should
be doing was getting back to work. The closing argument was pretty good, but he still wanted to practice it a few more times before tomorrow morning, on the off chance the plaintiffs rested their case a day earlier than expected.

Cal was used to late nights and short sleep, though. There was no reason he couldn’t spend more time with Brenna tonight and practice the closing again in the morning. Because he wanted this. He wanted
her
. She was a vision, straight out of any man’s fantasies. But that wasn’t the entirety of it. There was something intriguing about her, or maybe about the two of them together, that kept needling him, urging him not to simply let these few brief hours fade into memory.

She shook her head, regret turning her sensual mouth down at the corners. “I really wish I could, but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

It was a disappointing response, but he of all people understood the demands of a strong work ethic. “Maybe some other time, then.” Though he couldn’t imagine when that other time might be. He knew he was hard up, but when had he gotten so greedy that a fantastic meal, some intriguing flirtation, and maybe a good-night kiss if he was lucky, weren’t enough?

When he’d met Brenna, that’s when. God help him.

He added a tip to the receipt and signed it. Then he helped her into her coat before shrugging on his own.

As they exited the restaurant, he rested a hand at the small of her back, wishing New England’s spring weather were less capricious. Too many layers of fabric now kept him from sensing the play of Brenna’s muscles as she walked, the warmth of her skin. It occurred to him that she’d had her hands all over his body, but he’d barely touched her. And he had no way of rectifying that imbalance.

“Where are you headed?” he asked. “Can I walk you somewhere?”

“Just to the T station.”

Concerned, he spoke without thinking. “You’re taking the subway? At this hour?”

She visibly bristled. “I always do, sometimes even later than this. It’s safe.”

“I’d feel better if you took a cab. Let me get one for you.”

“No thanks, I prefer public transit,” she said coolly.

He could tell he was increasing her agitation, but he didn’t feel right about dropping her off at a subway station and just walking away from her. “Look, if it’s about money, I’m happy to pay for you—”

“No!” Her protest was loud and forceful. “Look, this wasn’t a date, and I can get home on my own.”

Her narrow-eyed glare sliced him to ribbons, and her body language told him his chances of a good-night kiss were rapidly dwindling. She’d stiffened, crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively. As much as it irked him, he needed to back off, pronto. If he didn’t, she was going to walk away from him, breaking that fragile but undeniable thread of connection between them.

Cal gently touched her arm. “Hey. I’m sorry. I overstepped. I’m just used to watching out for my friends, when it’s late. But you know this part of the city better than I do.” His shoulders tightened. “Let me walk you to the T station?”

She paused for what seemed like eons before rendering judgment. “Okay. That would be nice.” Then the humor gleamed in her eyes once more. “But no funny stuff.”

He raised three fingers in a salute. “Scout’s honor.” Thank God she’d given him another chance.

“It’s just a couple of blocks.”

“Lead the way.” He swept his hand forward with a courtly gesture.

Their route took them past Newbury Street’s curved and angled brick-fronted facades, each with its own set of brownstone steps. As they walked, he again drew her into a low-key conversation he hoped would defuse the tension that had built during their disagreement. He’d employed that tactic dozens of times in working with nervous witnesses, to build rapport. It seemed to meet with some success with Brenna, too, as she told him about the Indian restaurant that had been the other option she’d offered for their dinner, and he expressed his appreciation that she’d suggested Ciro’s.

They stopped at the elaborate wrought-iron entrance to the station. The uneasy moment of their parting had arrived. He’d learned his lesson though, and he forced himself to let Brenna take charge.

She leaned toward him, and he bent down, not making any assumptions and deliberately allowing her to set their limits.

Soft and yielding, her lips pressed against his own.

The hunger of desire overtook him, and he fisted his hands at his sides to keep from tangling them in her hair, to keep himself from deepening their kiss, the way
he
wanted.

Instead, his eyelids fell shut as he inhaled her scent, hoping to imprint it on his memory. Something floral, jasmine maybe, mingled with the pleasant yet distinctive fragrance of the massage oil he remembered from two weeks ago.

Too soon, she pulled away. He straightened, clearing his throat, already wishing he could kiss her again.

“Good luck with your trial,” she said.

“Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Bye, Cal,” she said, her eyes luminous and lovely.

“Until next time.” Cal hoped his confident smile masked all of his inconvenient feelings.

He watched as she descended the stairs, until she disappeared from view. His heart sank just a little when she didn’t look back.

W
ith the imprint
of Cal’s lips
still tingling on her own, Brenna caught one last glimpse of him, still watching her as she rounded the corner of the Copley station stairway. She refused to look longingly behind her like some asinine princess parting from her swain. What would have been the point, anyway? He lived in DC and she lived in Boston, and both of them were insanely busy with their careers. Better to just make a clean break of it and walk away with her dignity intact and her head held high.

Her phone buzzed with a new text message just as she opened the door to her condo. The message was probably just from Cissy, so she made herself wait to look at it until she’d gone upstairs and gotten ready for bed. Because why bother rushing headlong toward disappointment? The longer she waited to read it, the longer she could pretend it was from Cal.

At last, she got under the covers. It was time to face reality.

But the message
was
from Cal. He’d sent her a sweet text, telling her how much he’d enjoyed their dinner. Fists in the air, she did an exultant little shimmy before realizing she had no idea how to respond, or if she even should.

Maybe Cissy could help her figure it out. It was after ten o’clock, but that wasn’t especially late for a management consultant. Especially one who was waiting for her to call.

She sent Cissy a text:
Just got back from dinner with Cal
.

As expected, her phone rang less than a minute later. No greeting or other prelude, just her friend asking excitedly, “So how did the not-date go?”

“The dinner part was good. We went to Ciro’s.”

“Oh my God, I’m so jealous. I haven’t been there in forever!”

This was one of the many reasons why Brenna loved Cissy—Cissy was undeniably successful now, but she still adored divey pizza joints and could unashamedly envy Brenna for eating at one.

“Did he pay, or did you split it?” Cissy asked.

“He expensed it, so I decided not to argue.”

“Ah. And what was the not-so-good part?” Cissy didn’t miss much.

“Well, he got a bit…proprietary after dinner, when I said I was going to take the T home. He wanted to pay for a cab for me, and I refused, of course. Things got kind of heated, but he backed off. Even apologized.”

“So now what?”

“I don’t know. Probably nothing. He doesn’t live here,” Brenna said, masking her disappointment.

“Where does he live?”

“DC.”

“Oh come on,” Cissy scoffed, “that’s just a shuttle flight away. Totally doable.”

“Convenient, because Cal is also totally doable.” Cissy giggled, and then snorted, and then they both started laughing in earnest. When Brenna caught her breath again, she said, “He sent me a text afterward though, and I don’t know what to say. It’s been forever since I’ve done this.”

“What did the text say?”

“Just that he’d had a great time and wished he could see me again.”

“Well, what do you want to happen?” the ever-practical Cissy asked. “Text him that.”

“I don’t know, I feel really torn.”

Cissy made a fond yet exasperated noise. “Okay, then when we get off the phone, think about it, and
then
send him the text.”

“Thanks for your sage advice.” Brenna grinned, despite her sarcastic tone. “I’m sure I couldn’t have come up with that on my own.” Then she changed the subject. “So how’s Ash?”

“He’s good.” Cissy paused before confessing, “We’ve been talking about moving in together when his lease is up in the fall.”

“Really? That’s fantastic! You guys are so good together. Are you excited?”

“I am. He already spends pretty much every night over here anyway, and it’s been three years. I feel like we’re ready.”

“Well, keep me posted. See you Tuesday?”

“Oh, right. Mel’s thing. Yeah, it’s in my calendar.”

Brenna could imagine Cissy’s wry smile. She lived and died by her calendar. Not that Brenna was much different; her calendar just usually had a lot more blank spaces these days than Cissy’s did.

“Love you, Ciss.”

“Love you, too.”

Brenna ended the call and immediately started thinking about how to respond to Cal’s text, before her brain cells went off-line for the rest of the night. Half an hour later, she’d crafted the perfect reply.

Alas, all her wordsmithing was for naught. When she greeted her first client on Monday morning, Cal still hadn’t texted her back. She’d ended up telling him she’d had a great time too, and he should let her know the next time he was in Boston.

If that turned out to be never, well then, so be it.

By the time she sent her last client on her way that night, never was looking increasingly likely. Brenna was glad she’d set her expectations low. Luckily, she was too busy to care about Cal’s silence right now. She left cleanup and prep for the next morning and just headed home, still in her uniform—something she rarely did. Exhausted as she was, it couldn’t be helped.

Staggering up the three seemingly endless flights of stairs to her condo, she wanted nothing more than a quick grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of juice before she passed out. For a moment, she desperately wished she had someone to make dinner for her. But all she had was herself. At times like these, that was damned depressing.

While she waited for the cheddar to melt, she checked her e-mail. Among the usual slew of messages was one Cal had sent a few hours ago. She came immediately and completely awake.

From the time stamp, he must have sent it shortly after he’d left court that afternoon. He told her again how much he’d enjoyed seeing her and said he hoped he could get together with her again soon. Then he casually mentioned that he was going to give the closing argument for his trial tomorrow morning and invited her to come and watch. Her eyes widened. He hadn’t once said anything at dinner about it, even though she knew doing a closing argument must be a pretty big deal. Confidence and modesty were such a rare, appealing combination that she once again had to temper her attraction to Cal with the knowledge that nothing was likely to come of it.

She considered his invitation. Watching the closing arguments could be interesting. She’d never been on a jury, and her only exposure to trials and courtroom scenes had been the Hollywood versions. Besides, it would probably be the last time she saw Cal, even if it was at a distance. If the closing arguments didn’t run too long, she could squeeze it in—barely—before her first appointment of the day. Yawning, she decided she’d make up her mind in the morning, when her brain might possibly be functioning again.

But Cal’s last few sentences provided another stimulating jolt of adrenaline. “Maybe once the trial is over, we could go out for dinner? If the jury comes back with a verdict as quickly as we’re expecting, I’ll probably be heading back to DC on Wednesday at the latest, though I’m in Boston pretty regularly to see my family and meet with clients. I’ll definitely let you know next time I’m in town.”

He apparently didn’t feel as pessimistic about possibilities for the two of them as she did. Then again, it shouldn’t be surprising that a guy like Cal would go after what he wanted.

She couldn’t help the incredulous thrill she got from knowing that what Cal wanted was her.

* * *

B
renna woke shortly
after sunrise
on Tuesday, feeling refreshed. She decided she could watch the closing arguments and still get to Serenity Massage in time to prepare the suite for her first client of the day. God, how she wished she’d had the energy to take care of that last night.

So just before nine o’clock, she slipped into the courtroom and sat down in the back near the doors, so she could sneak out again if she had to. She soaked in the rituals of justice, the bailiff’s traditional words, the stately interior of the courtroom. The plaintiff’s attorney was a woman—a pleasant surprise—though Brenna didn’t find her speech particularly inspiring. Then again, Brenna would be the first to admit she was probably biased. She’d swear the ghost of Cal’s kiss still lingered on her lips from Sunday night.

Cal, as expected, was incredible, even from her awkward, three-quarter profile angle most of the way across the room. Intelligent and persuasive, the man totally owned the courtroom. And he was wearing the hell out of his charcoal gray suit. She glanced at the jury now and then, and just like her, every single one of them—both the women and the men—seemed completely hooked.

Enrapt, she didn’t even think to check the time until he’d finished. She was relieved it was only a few minutes after ten; she’d be fine, as long as she didn’t dawdle. As the judge started instructing the jury, she crept out of the courtroom.

The subway gods were with her, and she arrived at Serenity Massage with plenty of time to freshen the suite. As she worked through her day, she kept expecting to get a text or e-mail from Cal with the verdict. But by mid-afternoon, when she was cleaning up after her last client, she still hadn’t heard from him. She guessed the jury must still be out.

And now it was time to get ready for Mel’s “thing,” as Cissy had put it. Mel had turned thirty today, and the girls were all going out for supposedly authentic Mexican at Cantina Perla, the new tequila bar in the ultra-hip Seaport district, after Cissy got off work.

Brenna had brought a change of clothes with her, and she put them on now. A spray of pink cherry blossoms swept across the front of her form-fitting white top. Her slightly flared black skirt hit a few inches above the knee, and black boots hugged her calves like a second skin. She applied a touch of makeup before brushing out her hair until it shone, long and sleek.

Still no word from Cal by the time she arrived at the Cantina. And her phone was going to stay in her purse until she was on her way back home, so she resolved to enjoy this rare night out with her friends without thinking about him further.

Nearly a dozen women were gathered around a pair of high-top tables, with Mel in the center of it all. At least one round of shots had already been downed by the look of it, but no one was sloppy. Yet.

Over the next couple of hours they enjoyed a Mexican feast, capped by another round of shots to toast Mel’s milestone birthday. Brenna had moved on to strawberry margaritas with some of the other girls and was feeling halfway to bulletproof when Cissy, who was facing the door, leaned over and said in a low, excited voice, “Hey, Mr. Super-hottie just walked in.”

Brenna shrugged. There was no super-hottie hotter than Cal. Not that she was going to think about him tonight. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Brenna reminded her.

Cissy completely ignored her. “He’s looking right over here, you know.”

Brenna rolled her eyes this time.

“Wait, now he’s coming over here!”

Cissy’s play-by-play was getting tiresome. Despite the feeling of well-being her tequila armor brought on, she wasn’t in the mood to check out the so-called eye candy.

On her other side, Mel squealed drunkenly, “Oooh, you guys got me a preshent!” and Brenna finally decided she’d better see what was going on. She turned just as Cal reached her side.

“Cal! What are you doing here?”

Of all the tequila bars in the city of Boston, he had to show up here. After she’d had a few drinks. Too many emotions swirled through her, a strange mix of pleasure, surprise, and confusion rising to the top.

“Celebrating.” His smile was radiant.

Even with her head buzzing, she could still put two and two together. “You won the trial! Congratulations. Though I’m not surprised after what I saw this morning.” She returned his grin, noticing for the first time that he’d changed out of his suit into light gray dress pants with a subtle plaid pattern, and a white oxford shirt, the top button enticingly open.

“So you did make it to the closing arguments! I wasn’t sure, and then I didn’t see you…”

“I sat at the back, in case it ran long and I needed to leave early. You were amazing, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he said with the same confidence he’d displayed that morning as he’d won over the jury. “I still can’t believe you’re here, after you didn’t respond to my text when the verdict came back.”

He’d texted her?
“Sorry about that,” she said with a rueful shrug, cursing her perfectly rational decision to shut off her phone as soon as she’d arrived.

He shook his head. “What are the odds that my pub crawl ended up at the same bar as your…birthday party?”

And that’s when Brenna remembered that a tableful of tipsy women was observing this conversation. She imagined how it must appear to them—her world clearly narrowed to Cal, her friends entirely forgotten as she soaked up his every word.

Her face heated, her flush hopefully invisible in the bar’s dim lighting. “Umm…my friend’s birthday party. Mel—Melanie—is the birthday girl.” Brenna nodded her head, indicating her dark-haired friend.

“Happy birthday,” he told Mel.

Mel preened drunkenly. “Thanks! Yer pretty. I like you.” She turned to Rikki, who’d given up fighting to keep a straight face. “I like ’im.” She aimed a thumb in Cal’s general direction.