Chapter 1
1
“ L et us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” —Marcel Proust
The buzzing phone on my desk and the hum of voices from the adjacent lobby were killing my concentration.
My client had encroachment issues with the city and was willing to pay big bucks for documentation with foreboding verbiage. Not a problem. This was literally my jam. Some people went to law school to defend the rights of their fellow citizens and uphold justice for all. Others made sure the city kept the new basketball hoop they’d erected for their employees on their side of the property line, thank you very much.
Yeah, it was a thankless job, but someone had to do it. I chewed my thumbnail as I stared at the monitor, willing my brain to work faster. I had places to be and things to do, and a husband who’d be a tad irked if I showed up late to the dinner party I’d insisted on hosting.
“I love the idea, but…Friday? Why not Saturday or even a Sunday brunch?” Jack had asked.
“It’s the best night for everyone. Jay and Peter have a babysitter, Aaron is recording a podcast in the city and he was going to meet Matt anyway, and in a shocking twist, Paul and Seth just happen to be flying in from New York before they leave for London again. The fates have smiled upon this day, husband. Go with it.”
Being a wise man, Jack went with it. He was busier than ever with the bars and the motorcycle shop, but this particular group of friends were family too, and Jack had a soft spot for chosen family. However, that didn’t mean he’d want to prep the appetizers, throw a salad together, and grill the steaks he’d marinate too. I had to step up and do my share and…fuck, I just needed a few more minutes to?—
Buzz buzz
I peeked at the caller ID on my cell and immediately answered, “I’m on my way home.”
“Curtis, honey, I know you far too well,” Jack drawled in that delicious gravelly Southern-infused tone that made my toes curl in my Prada loafers and my heart beat a smidge faster than most medical professionals would consider safe. “You’re sitting at your desk, chewing your thumbnail, wondering if it’s possible to get home in under five minutes while simultaneously strategizing how to verbally kick someone’s ass.”
I frowned. “That is eerily correct. I need one more menacing sentence chock full of legal mumbo jumbo to dissuade the city from impinging on my obscenely wealthy client’s sport court. What d’ya got?”
Jack huffed a laugh. “How about ‘Stay in your lane, and don’t fuck with my three-point line’?”
“Oh, that’s good. Needs some polish, though.”
“Try ‘Don’t fucketh with thy three-point line.’”
“Genius!” My ear-to-ear grin split my face in half as I turned off my computer and pushed away from my desk. “I’m leaving now. I promise. This is the sound of me opening my briefcase and grabbing my coat.”
“Glad to hear that, ’cause I’m waiting in front of your building.”
I furrowed my brow, automatically glancing out the window, which was silly since my office was on the fifth floor and it was pitch dark by five p.m. in mid-November anyway. “You’re here?”
“That’s correct. So get your fine caboose in that elevator, and let’s get the show on the road,” Jack cajoled.
“I drove to work this morning. I can’t leave my car here overnight.”
“Sure you can, and I’ll tell you all the reasons it’s a great idea as we’re whipping past bumper-to-bumper traffic on my Harley. Let’s do this, Mr. Townsend-Farinelli.”
The line went dead before I could argue my case.
The nerve.
I stared at my cell for a beat, releasing a resigned sigh as I stuffed it into my pocket and stomped toward the elevators, giving “ticked off at hubby” vibes. My middle-aged secretary wasn’t fooled one little bit.
“Have a great weekend. And tell that Harley-riding dream-cake husband of yours hi for me,” she singsonged. “Jack said to tell you he’s in front of a delivery truck downstairs.”
“Good night, Melody.”
Melody grinned, unfazed by my scowl. Yep, my secretary had a huge crush on Jack and she knew that in spite of my unconvincing grumblings, I was head over heels madly in love with my bossy man.
But how dare he show up out of the blue and whisk me away on the back of his motorcycle? I was going to have to cling to him for dear life, my Hugo Boss trousers pressed against his denim-clad muscular thighs, my arms wrapped around his torso, and breathe in the scent of leather and cologne and…
Yeah, I had it bad for Jack.
Understandable. He was one charismatic motherfucker. Not only was he insanely handsome—we’re talking tall, dark, and gaga-gorgeous with twinkling eyes and a stubbled beard that tickled my ass when he pulled my cheeks apart and licked my?—
Okay, stop.
I fiddled with the strap, discreetly positioning my briefcase to adjust my cock on the off chance the serious-looking businessman scrolling on his phone was glancing at my crotch.
I willed myself to think about the work I’d left on my desk or dinner with our friends, but my mind was stuck on my husband.
Jack was older and twice as smart. He had the confident swagger of someone comfortable in his own skin. Someone who’d faced his share of battles and knew his worth.
I used to wonder what he saw in me. A decade ago, I was a neurotic lawyer with questionable fashion sense. My muscles were unimpressive, I was kind of a slob, and my family was all kinds of dysfunctional. We shared a geektastic love for baseball, but I had to admit, in that first year or two together, I’d worried that the novelty of me would wear off by the end of each season. Funny enough, the opposite had happened.
We fell deeper and deeper for each other. Our worlds mixed and morphed until he and I became we…Jack and Curt, the odd couple who somehow worked. I moved into his house, shared babysitting duties for his niece and nephew, my friends became his friends. Our interests began to blur, too. We read the same books and obsessed over the same shows. I honestly couldn’t remember if I’d turned him on to The Lord of the Rings or vice versa.
Not that it mattered. These things were just facets of…us.
Fast forward a few years, and my man was hotter than ever and I was still a DC lawyer who specialized in easements and encroachments. And while I had a bit more muscle mass, my hair was thinning. Ugh , I didn’t want to face the fact that I’d become the demographic those commercials featuring older men with incontinence, impotence, and hair loss were dedicated to. No, no, I wasn’t quite there yet—thank fuck—but it was looming. Seemingly not for Jack, though.
My point, if I had one, was that I’d married above my rank, big-time. It had taken me many years to finally realize that our friendship, mutual respect, physical attraction, and love for each other were truly special. But there was something more—a dynamic built on personal needs that we could never begin to explain to anyone else.
Jack looked after me while encouraging me to take chances. Like now.
He knew I had a tendency to overschedule…everything. If it sounded like fun, I’d sign up. It was a habit predating my college days that I hadn’t shaken.
So yes, it was very “me” to plan a dinner party on a Friday evening after a full day of work. There was always traffic in DC. My commute across town would have sucked in my BMW, but it would suck less on the back of a Harley.
Obvious, I know.
The part where he showed up and took control was the sweetest surrender for me. I fucking loved it. Sometimes I thought I shouldn’t. I was a capable adult in my late thirties. I could get my grown-ass home on my own steam, for fuck’s sake.
But my heart tripped and soared in my chest at the sight of Jack Townsend-Farinelli sitting astride his big black beast of a motorcycle, helmet in hand as he waited…for me. And when I spotted him at the entrance, I thought I might faint.
Okay, that was dramatic, but after all these years, he still did it for me.
Jack’s beautiful eyes crinkled hello and I love you and all kinds of swoony unspoken sentiments. He dismounted from the bike with feline grace, set the helmet on the seat, and opened his arms in greeting. I moved to him, unthinking, melting into his embrace. Every worry, every unchecked item on my to-do list, every ache and pain faded to nothing. He was here; everything was going to be okay.
I was grateful but of course, that wasn’t how I played it.
I kissed him, nipping his chin as I stepped out of his arms. “I love you to the moon and back, but you came all this way for nothing. I’m not getting on that thing.”
Jack’s lips twitched in amusement. “Sure, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
He studied me thoughtfully, then placed the helmet over his head. It matched his black bike and yes, the monochrome palette went nicely with his basic black leather jacket and gave classic a bad-boy energy. Damn, that was sexy.
“All right, have it your way. I s’pose I’ll meet you at home. There’s an accident on Massachusetts, and I’d avoid Dupont Circle too. Love you, baby.” He ran a calloused thumb over my jaw and sauntered to his bike.
I frowned. “Hang on. That’s it?”
Jack hopped onto the Harley and revved the engine to life, tossing a vaguely curious glance my way. “Yep. I’ll probably beat you by thirty minutes. I’ll make that kale salad you like…the one with the lemony dressing and shaved parmesan, while I wait.”
“Uh…” I hurried to the bike. “How much traffic?”
“A shit-ton. See you soon.”
I clutched a handful of his jacket, aware that my pulse had skittered into the stratosphere. “Hold up. Do you think I should take Vermont Avenue instead?”
“You want to know what I really think?”
I swallowed hard, slipping and falling into the familiar underlying play of some sexy game of tug-of-war.
“Uh…yes,” I squeaked.
“I think you should get your sweet ass on my bike. The sooner we get home, the sooner I can fuck you into the mattress.”
My cheeks heated on cue, but I didn’t argue when he handed me the spare helmet he kept in the rear compartment. “I kinda doubt we’ll have time for that.”
“We’ll make time. Hop on, honey. Let me take you for a ride.” Jack’s voice dripped with naughty innuendo.
Jesus, I was on fire. My tongue was heavy in my mouth, my brain felt fuzzy, and my cock swelled behind my zipper.
So, of course, I did what I was told and hopped onto my husband’s Harley.