Carter hadn't wanted to go to lunch with Phoebe Angell today, but she'd sort of cornered him. He hadn't enjoyed his date with Brie, either, but at least he'd had an excuse not to 'pick up where we left off' with Phoebe, which was what she had suggested they do tonight. At her apartment. With take-out Chinese and a bottle of wine she described as 'a big wine.' Wasn't much doubt what she had in mind.
Both unsatisfactory events should have given him a chance to get Mallory and her secrets off his mind for a while, but they'd had just the opposite effect. She wasn't the same person he'd known in law school, and the change was upsetting. Chewing his lip, he stepped into the suite, where Mallory's eyelashes nearly knocked him back out. 'Hi,' he said, practically stammering. Sitting innocently at the desk working on her laptop, she batted those lashes once, twice. 'Hi,' she said. 'Neither one of us seems to be much of a night owl.'
'Not now, anyway. Pressures of work, stress…' He trailed off, fascinated by the smudgy line of blue-green under her eyes that he could see even through her lower lashes, which were just as stunning as the upper ones. Stunning in the sense that he felt stunned.
'Look on the table,' she said next, making a few keystrokes. 'Somebody sent you a Christmas tree.'
He edged over to the tree and read the card. 'I don't know who,' he said. 'Maybe somebody sent it to you.' She had to know who sent it to her. One of the guys she'd been seeing, or worse, the one guy she'd gone out with all three nights they'd been in New York.
She seemed to be hesitating before she answered him, and when she did it wasn't a satisfactory, definitive answer at all. 'Maybe,' was all she said. 'Anyway, we have a tree.'
'Absolutely not,' was what he'd been hoping she'd say.
'Merry Christmas,' he said when he couldn't think of anything else. 'I don't know about you, but my Christmas wish is to settle this case.'
Again she wasn't saying anything, at least not very fast, so he edged back over to get another look at her eyelashes. 'What are you working on?'
'I decided to do some research on porcelain caps.'
'You don't need porcelain caps.' Now he was nearly slobbering. In an effort to stop staring at her lashes-which were incredibly long and dark and curled up, so they cast spiky shadows on her cheeks in the most amazing way- he'd gotten a good look at the rest of her. She'd taken off the jacket she'd worn today, the one that matched her eyes, and now he was seeing her in those tight pants and the top she'd worn under it. You could almost but not quite see through it. He could almost but not quite see the shadow made by the curve of her breasts. Had she gone out with this guy, whoever he was, looking like she did now?
'Not caps for me,' she said patiently. Swoop, swoop went her lashes. 'How the plaintiff's witness could whiten her teeth to the color of her caps.' Swoop, swoop.
'What did you find out?' He didn't give a damn. He just needed a distraction. 'Nothing.'
'That's good.' He was hypnotized by the difference in her appearance. Every line of her face seemed more- dramatic, or something.
'No, Carter, it isn't good.' She turned to face him, and her smile, a pinker, fuller smile than usual because her lower lip was pinker and fuller, had a patient look about it. 'You must be tired. Maybe it's time for us to go to bed.'
With a great deal of difficulty he pulled himself back from his Utopian dream. She hadn't meant go to bed
She got up. 'Of course, if you'd like to have a nightcap first, or some coffee…' She moved toward him. Instinctively he took a step back.
Her hair shone in the lamplight. It looked a little mussed, which worried him, because her hair was never mussed, but her lipstick was perfect, which reassured him. 'Did we hear from Phoebe about the lineup for tomorrow?' What he really wanted to know was how long she'd been home.
'You just missed her call,' Mallory said. She was moving her mouth differently, more slowly, shaping each word as she sent it through the slight smile that hovered around her mouth. 'Supermom McGregor Ross got a baby-sitter so we're all set with our two witnesses.' Her smile deepened. 'Phoebe seemed disappointed not to find you here.'
'In your imagination,' Carter said. He hadn't dialed Phoebe's home phone number yet, and she'd mentioned his omission during lunch.
Mallory moved a little closer to him. 'Not my imagination. You have a way about you.'
He swallowed hard and backed up a step. She moved forward a step. They repeated this choreography a couple of times until he realized she'd nearly backed him up to his bedroom door. What was she doing? What was this all about?
She looked directly into his eyes. Her lips parted. 'Look up,' she said. 'I've trapped you under the mistletoe.'
'What mistle-' he got out, but the sudden pressure of Mallory's mouth cut off the word.
It was just a friendly kiss, a Christmas tradition, so why did it feel so hot? His entire being zinged with anticipation as he returned the kiss, still afraid to touch her without a sign that it was all right.
He felt her little gasp against his mouth. That was the sign he'd been waiting for. His blood went from room temperature to boiling in a second as he experienced a sudden vision of what she'd be like in bed. Shy at first, not, for once, taking the lead but not pretending to be unwilling either, and erupting under his touch into heat and flame, liquid gold pouring over him with burning intensity, coming fast and hard before he was inside her and after.
Sweat broke out on his forehead and his knees almost buckled as blood rushed to his rising erection. He placed a hand on each side of her face, held her there and let himself kiss her the way he'd been wanting to, deep and warm and hard. But he wanted more, the feel of her in his arms, and they went around her, his hands splayed across her back, crushing her breasts to his chest. Then he slid his hands down to her waist, pulling the delicious curves of her body into the hard tension of his.
Even that wasn't enough. He wanted to grasp that curvy little bottom, pull her tighter, but as his hands began sliding even farther down her spine, a voice said, 'What the hell are you doing?'
It wasn't Mallory's voice, it was the voice inside his head. She hadn't asked for this much from him, just a playful kiss under the mistletoe. Reluctantly, one small step at a time, he made himself let go of her.
She was pink, flushed, her mouth bruised-looking, her eyes heavy-lidded as she gazed up at him. Did he imagine it, or had her lips clung to his until the last possible moment? He'd imagined it. Those had been his lips clinging to hers. It wouldn't be like Mallory to cling, to urge him not to stop.
'Wow,' she said. Her voice was husky. 'Kiss Phoebe Angell like that once and we won't have any trouble talking her into settling.'
Slowly, painfully, his hands dropped to his sides. Was she teasing him or did she mean it? Until she said it, he'd been very close to throwing caution to the winds and breaking his vow to earn her trust before he went for her body. But she had just put his greatest fear into words, that he'd been chosen to take this case because Phoebe Angell was a woman and he was a man women desired.
He stepped back, away from the mistletoe, away from the gaze coming at him from eyes he'd once thought of as icy and now saw as more like the inside of a sauna. 'That's not really how you want me to settle this case, is it?'
He couldn't read the expression on her face as she whispered, 'No, it isn't.'
'Well, good, because it's not the way I want to settle it, either.' He backed away into his own room and closed the door with a definite and firm click. It would have been… sophomoric to slam it.
Once in bed, hot and bothered, frustrated as all get out, he had a thought. He'd gone out with Athena and Brie and neither one of them had tried to jump him. He'd even imagined that Mallory had wanted him to go on kissing her-and more-but he'd been wrong. In fact, she'd suggested that he put the moves on Phoebe Angell.
He could come to only two conclusions. First, she didn't want him for herself. She just wanted him to settle this case by any means at his disposal. Second, he didn't have to worry about turning off his charm because he'd already lost it. Twenty-nine years old and the testosterone leak had finally done its job. He'd run out.
