11. Caleb #2
She smirks like she expected nothing less. Her lips part, and for a moment I think she'll say what she's really thinking. Instead she exhales softly. "You know, for a relentless egomaniac, you're oddly comforting."
I want to tell her I'd burn the world for her, but I just shrug. "It's a talent."
Her eyes dart to the window. "What now?"
"We play it slow. Let Lisa think she's safe. Meanwhile, we build our case." I check my watch. "And we eat. You hungry?"
"I could eat."
We end up at a small bistro two blocks away, tucked into a quiet booth. The lunch crowd hasn't hit yet, giving us privacy. Serena orders a salad—of course she does—I get the burger, and we spend the next hour dissecting every member of her team along with this morning’s meeting.
She's all nerves at first, picking at lettuce like it's penance, but I catch her watching me.
Every time I look up, her eyes dart away, but not before I see the flush climbing her neck or the way her tongue skims the corner of her mouth.
It's torture. It's also proof that under this battered exterior, Serena is still the woman who danced with me until 2 AM and whispered things in my ear that made me want to fuck her right there on the dance floor.
I study her too openly between bites, forcing myself to keep it professional—she's my client, she's in trouble, she should be off limits—but my cock doesn't give a shit about ethics.
Every time she leans forward, her dress pulls against her chest, and all I can think about is how she'd feel straddling my face while I eat her like she's my last meal.
She catches a drop of dressing at the corner of her mouth with her tongue, and I have to grip the table edge to keep from leaning across and tasting it myself.
"Do you want to know the settlement terms they offered?" I ask, setting my burger down.
"No. I want my name cleared and my job back."
"Good. I already told them to shove it—the offer was insulting. But I’m obligated to tell you the terms."
"I don't care what they are," she says, pushing her plate away. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters that you know what you're turning down."
"I'm turning down being silenced. I'm turning down letting them win."
Her chin is high, her eyes flashing, and I've never wanted to kiss anyone more. Fuck, she's magnificent when she's ready for a fight. My magnificent girl.
She drags her plate closer again and spears lettuce with unnecessary force. "I've worked too hard to let someone destroy me over lies."
"Good. You're handling this better than most clients would."
"I don't feel like I'm handling it well. I feel like I'm drowning."
"Trust me, you're doing fine. Most people would've taken that settlement just to make the stress stop."
She looks up, something shifting in her expression. "Is that your professional opinion, counselor?"
"Among other things." Like my opinion that you're the hottest woman I've ever seen and it's physically painful to not be touching you right now.
The server drops off the check. I reach for my wallet, and Serena starts to protest.
"My treat," I say.
She watches me drop cash on the table. "Does this count as one of your payment dinners?"
I can't help the smirk. "Nice try, Morgan. But no."
Her shoulders slump. "So I still owe you..."
“Unless you’re taking the out?”
Her face shutters. For a second, I see the temptation in her eyes—the easy way out. The path where she doesn't have to face me, or this thing between us. But then her spine straightens, that familiar fire returning.
"No," she says, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm not taking the out."
Good girl.
I stand, tossing a few more bills onto the table for the tip. "Then you still owe me. Hours. Nights." I extend my hand. When she takes it, I pull her up and into me, just for a second, just long enough for her to feel exactly how much I want her. "Every second I can steal from you."
Her breath catches, throat working as she swallows.
"Walk with me," I say, not releasing her immediately. "I have a meeting in twenty."
We step out into crisp air, and I guide her down Michigan Avenue. The afternoon crowd is picking up—tourists, office workers, the usual urban chaos.
"Where's your meeting?" she asks.
"Mercer Capital. Bennett wants me to review some contracts and I’m going to meet with Logan to see what he found."
"Already?"
"Logan's fast when motivated. And Bennett pays him enough to be very motivated."
We walk in comfortable silence for a few blocks. I'm hyperaware of her—how she moves, every brush of her arm against mine. Each contact sends heat straight to my cock.
"Caleb," she says as we approach the building. "Thank you. For everything. I know this isn't exactly a normal case for you."
"Nothing about you is normal, Serena."
She glances up. "Is that good or bad?"
"It's honest."
A black sedan idles at the curb. My driver behind the wheel, pretending not to watch us in the rearview as I reach for the door. Smart man.
"This is you," I say.
She moves to get in but I catch her arm, my fingers wrapping around her wrist. Her pulse jumps beneath my thumb.
"Caleb?"
I turn her slowly, deliberately, until her back meets the cool metal of the car. The Fall air bites between us, but where we're almost touching, there's only heat. I watch her chest rise and fall, quick little breaths that tell me everything I need to know.
I place one palm flat against the car door by her hip, then bring the other up to rest on the roof, deliberately slow, watching her track the movement. Now she’s caged between my arms, pressed into the car, the city noise falling away until it’s just her heartbeat and mine.
She freezes but doesn't pull away. Her eyes are huge, dark, searching mine.
"What are you?—"
"Do you know what my biggest regret is, Serena?"
My voice comes out rough, unguarded, and her lips part slightly. I watch her tongue dart out to wet them, and the tiny movement nearly breaks my control.
"What?" The word is barely a whisper.
I lean in, slow enough that she could stop me, close enough that I can see the sun creating gold flecks in her brown eyes, the way her lashes flutter.
"That I didn't kiss you that night when you asked me to."
She goes completely still. Even her breathing stops. Her fingers find the door edge behind her, gripping tight enough to turn her knuckles white. I can see her pulse hammering at the base of her throat, wild and fast.
I shift closer, eliminating another inch between us.
Now we're sharing air, nose to nose, and I can feel the warmth of her breath against my mouth.
She smells like vanilla and coffee and the faint sweetness of the iced tea we had with lunch.
I can practically taste her already, and my whole body goes tight with want.
"You said it was because I'd been drinking," she whispers, and her breath ghosts across my lips.
Every muscle in my body screams at me to close that final distance. To take what I've been craving since that night I first saw her. She's right here, lips parted, eyes half-closed, practically begging for it.
"You were." My voice is gravel. "And you deserved better than a drunken mistake you'd regret in the morning."
Her eyes search mine, and I see the moment she understands. The moment she realizes I wanted her then as much as I want her now.
"I'm sober now."
Christ. The way she says it—half invitation, half challenge. My control frays to threads.
"Yes." I lift my hand from the car roof, bringing it to her face. My thumb brushes across her cheekbone, feather-light, and she closes her eyes, leaning into the touch. "But now you're upset. Scared. Vulnerable."
Her eyes flutter open at that, confused and dark with want. I can feel the heat radiating from her body, see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. It would take one tilt of my head to own her mouth, to ruin her lipstick, to brand her with me. I could, and she’d let me. Christ, she’d let me.
Instead, I force myself to step back. Just an inch. Just enough that we're not sharing breath anymore. It feels like ripping off my own skin.
"When this happens—and it will happen—it needs to be your clear-headed decision." The words physically hurt to say. "Not because you're grateful or overwhelmed, but because you want me as much as I want you."
Her eyes flutter fully open now, searching my face. There's confusion there, and frustration, and something else that looks like hunger.
"Caleb—"
My name on her lips nearly undoes me. I step back completely, putting real distance between us even though every cell in my body protests.
"I'll call you tonight," I say, and my voice sounds wrecked even to my own ears.
She blinks hard, then ducks into the sedan. I watch it pull away, hands fisted against the urge to chase after it.
The instant she's out of sight, I check my watch. Ten minutes until I meet Bennett. Just enough time to splash cold water on my face and remember how to think with my brain instead of my dick. Fuck.