“Uh.” Her head fell back and she shifted in his lap, which elicited a gratifying groan from deep in his throat. “What about the non…” Another groan from him kicked her adrenaline even higher. “Non-fraternization clause?”
God, his hands felt good. His tongue felt good. Everything about him felt good.
He stopped and her body screamed in protest when he straightened to look her in the eye.
“As your attorney, I represent you in this”—he gestured back and forth between them—“matter. There is strict client/attorney privilege. Nothing that occurs between us will leave this room. For the sake of both of our jobs, I suggest you adopt the same policy with regard to our current situation.” He winked and her heart skipped a beat.
Raising her right hand as if swearing in, she placed her left on his chest. “I solemnly swear that what happens on Jane’s sofa, stays on Jane’s sofa.”
“What about him?” He hitched a thumb at Gandy, who was licking his paw near his tower.
“He’s been sworn to secrecy under penalty of dry food for the rest of his life.”
He nodded in approval, and she marveled at the turn of events. This was the most fun she’d ever had with a man—and they’d only kissed and done a little groping. Reckless as it was, not only with respect to her job but to their friendship as well, she wanted more. Much more. She wanted Eric Blackwell to make love to her and make her forget her clients with their failed relationships, and her family with their unrealistic expectations. She wanted to forget about her own misery with her job and her dating life, and with herself. But mostly, she wanted him.
Maybe Kim Zimmerman was right. Maybe from now on she should make all her decisions with her heart. She’d used her head and education and that hadn’t worked. This worked. This man. Right here. Right now.
She grabbed his tie and pulled him back in for another round of kisses. Every now and then, he’d laugh and she’d laugh right along with him. She couldn’t help it. She was having so much fun. The best time of her life.
More. She needed more of this man. Less clothes. More skin. More Eric. She rearranged to where she straddled him, and he groaned. She loved the noises he made. They made her forget how professionally inappropriate getting intimate with him was—or maybe those sexy noises just made her not care. Not care she was his boss’s daughter. Not care that he was a co-worker. Not care that he was her taboo: a lawyer.
After another long, passionate kiss, she reached between them and yanked on the bottom of his shirt to free it from his pants. Somehow, in the process, she kicked the bottom of the coffee table, launching both beer bottles like rockets in a perfect trajectory for the couch.
Everything moved in slow motion for a minute as she frantically reached out to intercept one of the bottles before it hit the sofa, but instead of making a save, she knocked it up in the air again, where it rotated and splattered both of them with beer, landing in his lap between them. The other bottle landed benignly, somewhere on the floor, along with her pride.
Shit, shit, shit. She did it every time.
Hand over mouth, she stumbled to her feet. “I’m so sorry, Eric. Really.”
The look on his face was unreadable. It was stuck somewhere between surprise and horror.
In a panic, she looked around for a blanket or something to sop up the mess, but settled for a throw pillow, using it like a sponge to soak up the beer on his chest and lap. Why, why, why did she always do something that messed everything up. She thought she’d finally found someone she was comfortable enough with to not commit this kind of nonsense. Obviously not.
And then, Eric Blackwell did the most remarkable thing.
Eric laughed so hard, his stomach hurt. The look of horror on Jane’s face when that bottle landed in his lap was epic…and adorable. And then the sponge routine with the fluffy pillow: too cute.
“There are better ways to cool things down,” he said, catching his breath.
She sat facing him on the coffee table, covered her face, and groaned. “That wasn’t my intention at all.”
He stood and pulled her to her feet in front of him. “Good, because it didn’t work.” He gestured to the erection tenting his beer-soaked pants. “I offer into evidence, Exhibit A.”
“No objection,” she said with a smile.
Palm on her shoulder, he guided her to lie back on the sofa, then sat on the edge, skimming his fingers over her smooth, beer-splattered skin. He traced up her body to the hollow of her throat, which moved when she swallowed. Her pupils had expanded, her blue irises reduced to narrow rings. He’d dreamed this. Fantasized it as she’d walked down the hallway, oblivious he even existed. And now, here he was, living that dream. “Moving too fast?”
She laughed. “Are you kidding? We’ve been having foreplay for a month now, and I didn’t even realize it.”
“I did.” He drew his fingers back down, between her breasts and over her bra clasp, which would only be serving its intended function a few more minutes, across her abdomen to her jeans. When he popped the button, she gasped, and he got even harder.
She reached up and ran her hands over his chest. “Your shirt’s wet.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear. “I’ll lay odds your panties are wet.”
She said in mock horror, “Oh my God. Who are you? What have you done with attorney Eric Blackwell?”
“Eric Blackwell needed a recess.”
“He also needs to take his shirt off.” She fumbled and eventually removed his tie. He sat patiently as she undid his dress shirt buttons, then stripped off his shirt. “Damn.” She ran her hands over his chest and down over his abs. He knew what she saw. He’d worked hard on his body. Other than movie night with Jane, it was the one indulgence he allowed outside of work: a quick, intense workout every day before work. It kept him sane. Watching her as she explored him, though, was an added benefit.
“Who knew,” she said, “that diligent, hard-working, quiet, Eric Blackwell, Esquire, was a hot, sexy man.”
“You knew,” he challenged.
She ran her thumb over his lips. “What other secrets do you have?”
He trapped her wrist and sucked her thumb into his mouth, circling it with his tongue until she moaned and he released her. “I have a thing for crossword puzzles.” He pushed her back down to her back on the sofa. “And chocolate chip ice cream.” He ran his hands up her ribs. And you, he thought as he undid the clasp on the front of her bra. I have a serious thing for you, Jane Dixon.