Chapter 8
That evening, Quentin invited Lexi and their friends out for dinner and drinks to celebrate how well the trial was going.
A court case of this magnitude ordinarily took at least four weeks.
In light of the day’s surprise development, everyone believed that a favorable verdict for Quentin’s whistle-blower client was a foregone conclusion.
Lexi and Quentin were the first to arrive at the upscale downtown restaurant. After the gushing hostess requested Quentin’s autograph, he and Lexi were escorted to a posh VIP lounge and served cocktails while they waited for the rest of their party to join them.
Although it had been hard to keep her distance from Quentin for the past six days, Lexi was glad she’d toughed it out.
He’d needed to concentrate on the trial, and she’d needed time to recover from their last explosive encounter and shore up her defenses.
Now, seated beside him on the plush sofa—not within kissing distance—she felt reasonably in control of herself and the situation.
Of course, knowing that they wouldn’t be alone much longer certainly helped.
Reflecting on the drama that had unfolded that day in the courtroom, she smiled and shook her head. “No matter how many times I’ve seen you in action, Quentin, you never cease to amaze me.”
He chuckled softly, lounging on the sofa with one arm draped across the back of the seat cushion and a glass of whiskey cradled in the other hand, which bore his gold class ring from Morehouse.
He still wore his impeccably tailored Gucci suit, but he’d removed his tie and loosened the top three buttons of his shirt, exposing the strong, masculine column of his throat.
He looked utterly relaxed and content, a man at his leisure.
He also looked drop-dead sexy.
Shoving the unwelcome thought from her mind, Lexi continued, “Seriously. I’ve already told you a thousand times what a gifted, brilliant trial lawyer you are.
You’re absolutely riveting. But I swear, Quentin, you say and do some of the most outrageous things sometimes.
I mean, only you would stop to tie your shoes, then compliment the other guys’ shoes, before cross-examining a hostile witness. ”
Quentin grinned, tapping a broad finger to his temple. “It’s psychological.”
“I know. Everything you do in that courtroom is calculated.” She’d seen him manipulate and seduce women with the same finesse. It was downright frightening.
“But all kidding aside,” he said soberly.
“I really want to win this case. My client stood up for what he believed in, and it cost him his job and his good reputation. These health insurance companies are controlling people’s lives—deciding whether they live or die—based on how much profit they stand to gain.
It makes me sick to my damn stomach. If I can’t get these greedy bastards convicted for their corrupt policies, then taking a pound of their flesh is the next best thing. ”
Lexi gazed at him, goose bumps peppering her skin.
One of the things she’d always admired about Quentin was his fiery intensity.
He was passionate about his beliefs, his innate sense of right and wrong.
He’d gone into law to become an advocate for those who couldn’t advocate for themselves.
Lexi used to tease him back in college, telling him that beneath his devil-may-care playboy persona beat the heart of a righteous crusader.
Smiling softly at him, she said, “Your client is very lucky to have you on his side.”
Quentin met her gaze. “And I’m lucky to have you on mine. Thanks for coming today, Lex. I really appreciated seeing you there.”
The tender gratitude on his face made her heart squeeze tightly. Averting her eyes, she took a sip of her apple martini and said gruffly, “Don’t get all sentimental on me, Red. It’s not like I haven’t been coming to your trials for years.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “You’ve been there from the very beginning, and I want you to know how much that means to me.”
She drank more of her martini, swallowing hard.
“Remember my first court case?” Quentin reminisced with a soft chuckle. “I was fresh out of law school, and so damn nervous that I kept mispronouncing the judge’s name and repeating the same questions during cross-examination.”
Lexi smiled. “You were adorable.”
He grimaced. “I was a wreck.”
“That, too.” She laughed. “But you certainly weren’t too nervous to flirt with the court reporter.”
“Did I?” His mouth twitched. “I don’t remember.”
“I do. And I can only imagine what her transcript looked like by the time you were through with her. You might have gotten that poor woman fired, Quentin.”
“I hope not.”
“Me too.” Lexi grinned, then sighed. “Well, you’ve definitely come a long way as a litigator.”
He gazed at her. “A lot has changed over the years.”
She blushed, fully aware that he was referring to their relationship. Taking a sip of her drink, she murmured, “Not everything has to change.”
“Change can be good.” His voice deepened. “Very good.”
She’d somehow misjudged the reach of his long arm draped over the sofa.
Before she realized it, his thumb was rubbing the nape of her neck with small, lazy circles that sent shivers down her spine.
As her nipples tightened and bolts of sensation zigzagged to her groin, she wondered how such a simple caress could wreak pure havoc on her body.
Why couldn’t all these pulsing nerves have remained dormant, forever immune to his touch?
She checked her watch, then cast a desperate glance at the empty doorway. “I can’t believe everyone’s running so late. It’s not like them, especially Reese. She’s Ms. Punctuality.”
Quentin took a languid sip of his whiskey. “They’re not coming.”
She looked at him in surprise. “They’re not?”
“No.”
“How do you know?” She fumbled out her cell phone. “I don’t have any missed calls. Did one of them call or text you?”
“No.” He met her puzzled gaze. “They’re not coming, because I never invited them.”
“You didn’t inv—?” As comprehension dawned, she stared at him in disbelief. “You set this whole thing up just so I’d have dinner with you?”
“Pretty much.”
She scowled. “I don’t believe you! Resorting to trickery to get your way? That’s so underhanded.”
Quentin gave her a knowing look. “If I’d asked you out to dinner—just the two of us—would you have accepted?”
She hesitated. “No.”
“I rest my case.”
They stared each other down.
“I have to use the bathroom,” she blurted, lunging to her feet.
As she strode quickly from the room, Quentin called out, “Lexi.”
She stopped and glanced back at him.
He was studying the twinkling contents of his glass. “Don’t run out on me.”
Hearing the veiled warning in his voice, she swallowed. “I won’t.”
But the thought crossed her mind as she lingered in the restroom—retouching her lipstick, combing her hair, doing everything possible to delay her return to him.
Why shouldn’t she leave the restaurant? Quentin knew she was adamantly opposed to elevating their relationship, yet he’d tricked her into having dinner with him anyway.
It would serve him right if she left him high and dry.
And she could, since they’d arrived in separate cars.
So what was stopping her?
“Good manners,” Lexi muttered to her reflection. “Loyalty. A guilty conscience. A big appetite.”
She sighed. None of the above.
Against her better judgment, she wanted to spend the evening with Quentin. After six days apart, she missed him. Missed him more than she should have.
“God help me,” she whispered.
Knowing she couldn’t hide in the restroom all night, she mentally squared her shoulders and headed out the door.
The solicitous ma?tre d’ was waiting to escort her back to Quentin. But instead of being led to a table in the main dining area, Lexi was taken to one of the restaurant’s private rooms. As soon as she stepped through the door, she gasped sharply.
The room’s elegant decor featured marble columns and gleaming parquet floors.
The walls were hung with mirrors and lush artwork that captured the French countryside.
Lights from a crystal chandelier were dimmed intimately low, while candles glowed on the linen-covered table.
Nearby, a pair of double doors led onto a terrace that overlooked the glittering night skyline.
The soft strains of classic French music could be heard in the background.
“Ohhh,” Lexi breathed, gazing around in utter amazement. She’d been transported back to France.
Quentin rose from behind a baby grand piano tucked into the corner, where he’d been plucking out a few errant chords. He couldn’t play a lick, but vowed to learn someday.
“There you are.” He came toward her slowly, his gaze latched onto hers. “I was starting to think you’d bolted on me.”
“I considered it.” But her voice broke, and to her dismay, tears welled in her eyes. “Quentin. This is… I can’t believe…” She shook her head, too choked up to continue.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured, humor threading his deep voice. “At least not until you’ve tasted the food.”
She let out a teary laugh. Her heart was so full it felt as though it’d burst out of her chest at any moment.
Quentin took her hand and led her over to the table by the French doors. He pulled out her chair, and when she sat down, he gently pushed it back in, making her feel as cherished and delicate as fine china.
As he claimed his own seat, she braced her elbows on the table, rested her forehead on her clasped hands and drew a deep, shaky breath, praying for composure. When she raised her head again, she found Quentin watching her with an expression of tender adoration.
Before she could speak, a waiter appeared with a bottle of Chablis and a platter of French cheeses. To Lexi’s delight, the young man spoke flawless French. After pouring their wine and conversing with them for a few minutes, he departed with the promise to return shortly with their meals.