Case for Seduction (Kimani Romance) Read online

  He cocked his head, remembering. “I enjoyed law school.”

  “Ah, but were you working full-time when you went?”

  “I was not,” he conceded. “Props to you.”

  Her lips turned up in the beginnings of a smile. “Why, thank you.”

  He sipped again. She flipped a page in her book.

  He gave up on being subtle, although, to be fair, that horse had galloped out of the barn a while back when he’d first laid eyes on her.

  “I notice you have...one, two, three empty chairs at your table.”

  That got a laugh out of her. “You didn’t mention you were a math whiz.”

  “And I have...one, two, three empty chairs at my table. It seems like a waste of resources, don’t you think?”

  She heaved a long-suffering sigh, but he could hear the amusement in her voice. “You do see that I’m trying to study, right?”

  “What a nice offer.” Without giving her the chance to object, he gathered up his cup and plate and slid around to one of the empty chairs at her table. “I’d love to join you. I hate to eat alone. And I can help you study.”

  She sat back, shifting slightly to sling one of her arms over the back of her chair, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Subtle, much?”

  “What’s subtle?”

  “Wow.” Her grin was wry. “That explains a lot.”

  “Subtlety is overrated. Everyone says so.”

  “Well, if you’re going to help me study, here’s what I need.” She held up her hands and started counting on her fingers. “Number one. Read these thirty pages for me.” She pointed to her red textbook which, he knew from personal experience, weighed approximately five pounds. “Number two. Summarize it for me in basic terms. None of that legal mumbo jumbo. And none of that res ipsa nonsense.”

  Oh, she was funny. “Anything else?”

  “Number three. Type up my outline for me. Number four. Take the final for me. It’s in December. Thanks ever so much. I’m going for a massage.”

  “So you want to get through your class with no reading or studying, no Latin and no exam. Does that about cover it?”

  “You’re the one who offered to help.”

  “True. I’d better keep my strength up, eh?”

  His appetite restored, he took a big bite of pumpkin scone. Delicious.

  Frowning down at her lemon cake, she tapped her pen on the table.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I ordered the wrong thing,” she said. “What is that, anyway?”

  “It’s my fantastic pumpkin scone. They’re out of them, but since you’re sharing your table with me, I can share this with you. Fair is fair.”

  “Oh, no, I―”

  “I insist.”

  He broke the scone in half and gave her a piece. His reward? A gleeful smile that made something tighten low in his belly. Taking a bite, she made a soft sound of pleasure that rippled over his skin like warm bathwater.

  “I have a new favorite,” she told him.

  “I knew you would.”

  She shoved her plate across the table at him. “You can have it. You probably need the calories after your― What exactly have you been doing to get so sweaty? I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “Just a healthy workout at the gym.”

  “Training for the Olympics?”

  “Go big or go home. That’s my motto.”

  Sometime during this conversation, he realized suddenly, they’d adopted the same posture. Both of them had their elbows on the table and were leaning toward each other. There was an easiness about talking to her that made him feel as though he’d stumbled across a friend he hadn’t seen in years, but sorely missed. It wasn’t hard to imagine sitting here with her until closing time at eleven or so tonight, chatting about every little thing that might cross their minds.

  A clang and a scrape startled them. It was with some surprise that he looked around and discovered that they were not, in fact, the only two people left in the Starbucks. Ashley, who’d been wiping down the table next to theirs, clanked another few pieces of silverware into her plastic bin and straightened the remaining chairs with an annoyed clunk. Lobbying a final glare at him, she took her cleaning supplies and marched through a door to the kitchen in the back.

  All of this seemed to amuse his companion, who had a brow raised. “I think you’ve offended Ashley.”

  Shaking his head, he took a quick gulp of coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “She’s into you.”

  He took another sip, which was a mistake, given his overheated cheeks. “It’s nothing.”

  She laughed and worked on another bite of scone. “If you say so. But I suggest you have your food tested for poison the next time she serves you something.”

  “Duly noted. So how do you manage your time with the class and work?”

  She waved a hand, dismissing the topic. Apparently, this one didn’t spend too much time feeling sorry for herself. “It’s easy once you stop sleeping. And hobbies are out. And I don’t have as much time to clean my apartment, but you won’t find me crying about that.”

  “And what did you do for fun before you started law school?”

  “Well, I spent a lot more time with my friends. I read books. Mysteries,” she added, before he could ask. “And I practiced yoga.”

  Well, that explained the body. God bless yoga.

  “Your friends understand, though, right?” he asked, hoping she might allude to a significant other, if there was one. “They don’t give you a hard time, do they?”

  “They do understand. Which doesn’t mean they don’t whine when I miss girls’ night out. But they’re used to it by now.”

  “Good.”

  “And what do you do with yourself when you’re not working?”

  The question threw him for a major loop, probably because he was thirty-one and had no life. He hesitated, thinking of all the exciting things he wanted to do one day when he had time. When he wasn’t overloaded with court appearances, needy clients and a demanding family.

  Was such a magical day even possible?

  Yeah, he thought sourly. As soon as dinosaurs once again roamed the earth.

  “I’m always working,” he said.

  Wow. That reeked of dissatisfaction, didn’t it?

  She’d noticed. Her gaze sharpened with interest. “So are you a workaholic because you enjoy it or because you can’t see any other way?”

  Another tough question. “I have no idea.”

  She smiled, and her extraordinary eyes were full of understanding. “You should probably work on that, shouldn’t you?”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “Hypocrisy is my middle name.”

  That got him. He grinned. She grinned back. The moment lengthened into an interlude so delicious it was almost unbearable.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  He thought about how his day started in the usual manner―yawn worthy―and how exciting she’d made it when he least expected it. He thought about how interesting and beautiful she was, and how she’d already made him smile more this morning than he had in the past week or so, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

  She intrigued him more than any woman he’d met in a long time.

  A long time.

  What if he hadn’t literally stumbled on to her here in Starbucks?

  What if his attraction was one-sided?

  He didn’t think so, though. Her eyes were too bright and her color too high.

  And he’d been around long enough to know when a woman responded to him.

  She turned away first, running an unsteady hand through her hair. “Well...”

  He cleared his throat, which fe
lt tight with a sudden longing that was all out of proportion with the occasion. Sharing coffee and a breakfast treat with a complete stranger shouldn’t tie him up in knots, he knew, no matter how sexy she was.

  Tell that to his raging hormones.

  “Well,” he said.

  With her head bent low, she flipped a couple pages forward in her book, and then flipped back again. Ultimately, she pushed away the book and pulled the laptop closer, tapping a couple keys. He had the idea she was as flustered as he was, which made him feel a whole lot better, because he was a sudden mass of nerves, desire and uncertainty.

  “I should get back to studying.” She tipped up her face just enough for him to see deepening frown lines between her brows. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it.”

  Ah, man. Was he a jerk, or what? He rolled his shoulders, trying to release some of his spiking tension. “Sorry. I’m saying that to you a lot, aren’t I?”

  “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “It was fun talking to you. But the being-knocked-on-my-butt part? Not so fun.”

  He snorted out a laugh.

  “But I liked the scone. Thanks for introducing me to something new.”

  He slid back his chair with a loud scrape that echoed his frustration. “I’ll just...go on back to my own table and leave you in peace.”

  “Give a yell if you get lost.”

  The teasing undid him. He wanted more of it. More of her.

  The words came out in a rush. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  Her head came up, and she hit him with that intense gaze and eyes that were round and shocked. “Excuse me?”

  His hopes crashed and burned via a sickening swoop in his belly. “I knew it. You’re with someone, aren’t you?”

  “What? No, but I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Do you?”

  “Dinner is always a good idea. You have food, maybe some wine, you get nourishment—it’s great.”

  “Don’t you think both our lives are complicated enough without rocking the boat?”

  “I thrive on complications.”

  “I don’t, though,” she said flatly. “I thrive on smooth sailing.”

  Jake took a minute to regroup, thinking hard. He’d asked her out, she’d said no, end of story. He wasn’t in the habit of begging women to be with him, and his pride wouldn’t let him start now. She wasn’t the only woman in Philly, and if she wasn’t interested in him, well, then screw her. Her loss.

  So why did he feel like the biggest loser? Why did he have the uncomfortable certainty that something special was slipping through his fingers?

  He stared at her, trying to manage his disappointment. “How can I change your mind? I’m just talking dinner here. You have my permission to walk out on me if you’re not having fun. You can duck into the ladies’ room and never come back.”

  For a minute, she wavered, dimpling, and he thought he had her.

  But then her expression hardened and she shook her head. “I’m not going out with you. You shouldn’t even be asking me.” She gave him a little wave. “Buh-bye.”

  Shouldn’t even be asking?

  Okay. Why was he getting the feeling he was missing something?

  “Why shouldn’t I be ask—”

  “Wow,” said a new voice. A mocking female voice, to be exact. “Some things never change, do they? I should have known.”

  Hang on. He knew that voice. Jake looked up and— Aah, shit.

  Speaking of unneeded complications.

  “Avery.” He kept his expression cool. “What’re you doing here?”

  Avery, a pretty brunette he’d met at the gym and with whom he’d shared a couple—no, three—memorable interludes at her place, loomed over the table. Apparently she’d also just come from working out, because she had a duffel slung over her shoulder and was wearing shorts and a sports top.

  She looked pissed. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips were thin and one manicured hand was firmly planted on a hip. The killing glare she leveled on him warned that she’d be overturning tables and kicking asses in a minute.

  His gorgeous companion, meanwhile, had a single brow raised and was watching for his reaction.

  “I stopped in for some juice,” Avery said. “But while I’m here, maybe you could explain why you haven’t been returning my texts. Is she the reason? What am I saying? Of course she is.”

  A couple nearby heads swiveled in their direction, probably because Avery’s volume was on the increase. As always, when someone was upset, he kept his tone low and reasonable.

  “Avery, I told you I wouldn’t be seeing you anymore,” he reminded her.

  “No, jackass. What you said was that you were busy at work and would call me in a few days. That was three weeks ago.”

  His conscience squirmed guiltily. That did sound like something he’d say.

  He opened his mouth with no real idea of how he could smooth things over.

  Avery saved him the trouble by dumping her cup of juice in his lap.

  Iced juice.

  Yelping, he leaped to his feet, dimly aware of the gasps and snickers all around him. Ashley the barista, in particular, gave a loud snort, which he did not appreciate.

  Ah, but Avery wasn’t done with him yet.

  “Great glasses,” Avery said to Gorgeous. “Dolce & Gabbana?”

  Gorgeous, looking startled, touched her frames. “Uh, yes. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Avery hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and gave the woman a rueful smile. “Let me give you a piece of advice, girlfriend. This one?” She jabbed a finger in Jake’s direction; he winced. “He’s good for about three orgasms for about three nights.”

  “Avery,” he growled.

  “So enjoy it while it lasts,” Avery continued. “But don’t get your feelings involved. Okay? Gotta go, people. Bye.”

  Avery wheeled around and swept through the glass door—thank the Good Lord—but the damage was done. Not that he’d been on firm footing with Gorgeous anyway.

  Looking grim, she was gathering up her books and laptop and cramming them back into her bag with jerky movements. “I’m leaving, too.”

  Fully aware of how ridiculous he looked with the juice stain down his crotch, he tried to do some major damage control. If she walked out of here now, he was certain both that he’d never see her again and that her memory would haunt him for a good long time.

  “That’s never happened to me before,” he said quickly.

  “Right,” she said, yanking her bag’s zipper closed. “Whatever you say.”

  “I know that looked bad,” he continued, lowering his voice because he was anxious not to give the avid onlookers anything else to laugh about, “but we never had a, uh, real relationship. We just, uh, hooked up.”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  She turned to go. He gave it one last shot. That was his nature. He fought for the important things in life. And he knew, on some instinctual and inexplicable level, that she was important.

  “Wait,” he called after her, not caring who was listening. What was a little more humiliation on top of what he’d already endured? “At least tell me your name.”

  She swung back around and gaped at him with more horror than he thought was necessary under the circumstances. “Oh, my God. You have no idea who I am, do you?”

  Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

  He froze, thinking hard and fast.

  Had they met before? And, if so, how could he ever have forgotten her?

  “No,” he admitted. “Who are you?”

  Her eyes, which were now a definite and stormy gray, flashed so much ice at him that he felt his veins constrict with the cold.

  “Someone you’ll nev
er be hooking up with, buddy. You can count on that.”

  Chapter 2

  This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

  Charlotte Evans tried to regulate her panicked breathing the following Monday morning, which wasn’t easy while sprinting up the back staircase of Hamilton, Hamilton and Clark. In a pencil skirt and heels.

  She should be sitting at her cubicle on the lower level―affectionately known as The Dungeon—of the law firm’s redbrick building, with all the other typing pool peons. She should be keeping her head down and tapping out ninety words per minute so that the work in her inbox didn’t continue to multiply until it smothered her.

  Now was no time for a personal crisis.

  The appellate brief she was currently working on needed to be filed with the Third Circuit by noon.

  N-O-O-N. Which was―she checked her watch―less than three hours from now. Three short hours! How in God’s name was she going to decipher all the microscopic red edits by then? And how was she going to finish―

  Later for that alarming thought. Reaching the firm’s reception area, which was on the fourth floor, she took a deep breath, smoothed her skirt and crept through the heavy fire door.

  As usual, the stately leather and mahogany made her feel like a clumsy little kid again, as though her mother would show up and smack away her hands if she touched anything too expensive or precious. Which was pretty much anything in the reception area, where clients had their first impression of the firm. There were oversize windows framed by striped silk drapes, potted palms in every corner, Oriental lamps and rugs that probably cost more than her beat-up used car was worth, and a crystal chandelier that sparkled like flawless diamonds against the carved ceiling moldings.

  Meredith, the receptionist, gatekeeper and queen of all she surveyed up here, sat at her post behind the granite counter. Her headset was in place and her phone-answering voice was singsong perfect.

  “Good morning. Thank you for calling Hamilton, Hamilton and Clark,” she was murmuring into her mic. “How may I direct your call?”

  The only thing out of place on this floor that showcased the extreme elegance of one of Philadelphia’s most prestigious law firms, Charlotte thought, was―