CHAPTER
Two
TY
“Court is in recess until Monday,” the judge announces as he leaves his bench. I smile reassuringly at my client, shake her hand, and grab my briefcase, ready to head out for the day.
It’s been three days since Lauren’s appearance in the office, and I haven’t been able to reach her.
As I push through the courthouse doors, I pull my iPhone out of my pocket and dial her number, but it goes straight to voice mail.
Again.
I’m worried about her. She’s not mine. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not even my client, so I have no reason to be this worried.
She’s a grown woman who can take care of herself.
But I’ll be damned if I can stay away from her.
I bypass my office and head straight for home. I don’t live far, so I typically walk to and from work. Summer is dragging on nicely, although a hint of the bite of fall is in the air. The tips of the maple trees lining the boulevards are beginning to yellow.
As I pause to pull my suit jacket off, a car honks as it passes. I wave and roll my sleeves, drape the jacket over my arm, and continue toward home.
Where is she?
If Lauren’s ex-husband hadn’t just threatened her the other day, I wouldn’t be so worried.
But he did.
And she never did get around to telling me exactly what he threatened to do to her.
My first instinct is to drive to her house and check on her. What if she’s fallen? Sick?
Or maybe she’s just gone on vacation, you idiot.
I shake my head and cross the street leading to my house. The neighborhood is older, but the houses are well taken care of and nicely spaced. I approach my sister’s home and smile when I see Jillian sitting on her porch, absorbed in a book.
“Hey!” I call out, and wander up her sidewalk.
She looks up in surprise and smiles when she sees me. “Hey, yourself. How was your day?”
I set my briefcase down and loosen my tie. “Long. You?”
“It was good.” She gestures to the chair beside hers and I sink into it with a deep sigh. “Want some sun tea?”
“No thanks.” I shake my head and push my hands through my hair, then glance down at the book in her hands. “What are you reading?”
Her eyes light up and she shows me the cover. “A Spark of Passion by Peyton Adams. It’s the second in the series.”
I raise my eyebrows and smirk at my little sister. Her dark hair is pulled back in her usual braid and she’s in shorts and T-shirt, her new uniform since returning home from LA. She looks much younger than her twenty-eight years.
“You’re reading porn now?”
“It’s not porn,” she sniffs. “Besides, they’re gonna be made into movies, and I wanted to see what all the fuss is about.”
“And?”
“They’re so good. You should read them.”
I laugh and hold my hands up as if in surrender. “No, that’s okay. I’ll leave the romance novels to you girls.”
She shrugs and lays the book aside. “Your loss. You never know, you might learn something.”
“I’ll take your word for it. How are you settling in, brat?”
She smiles, reclines back in her chair, and lays her hands on her belly. “I love it. I’m so happy that Cara shacked up with Josh and let me live in her house.”
“So kind of her,” I reply sarcastically. Cara Donovan is Jill’s best friend, and when Cara moved in with her fiancé, Josh King, she offered her house to Jill, who’d just moved back to town.
“So, what’s up with you?” Jill asks, eyeing me carefully.
“Just a lot on my mind.”
“No.” She shakes her head and narrows her eyes. “You have that look you get when you have a woman on the brain.”
“I don’t get a look.” I chuckle and cross my arms over my chest.
“Yeah, you do.” She turns in her chair, facing me squarely. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me, Tyler Sullivan.” She shakes her finger at me, making me laugh. “Spill it.”
“No woman.” I shrug and watch a cat scurry across the road. “Just work stuff on my mind.”
“Well, whoever she is”—Jillian ignores my sigh of exasperation—“she’s not good enough for you.”
“Of course she’s not. She’s imaginary because there is no woman.”
“Okay.” She smiles smugly. “Is it someone I know?”
“Oh my God!” I exclaim, and pull myself out of my chair. “I’m going home. I was going to take you out to dinner, but you fucked it up.”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she pouts, then lets out a belly laugh as I grab my briefcase and walk toward my own house just a few doors down. “You know you love me!”
“You annoy the hell out of me!” I respond over my shoulder with a laugh.
I jog up my porch steps and into my house, toss my keys on the coffee table and briefcase on the chair. I change into jeans and a T-shirt and saunter into the kitchen, open the fridge, and try to decide between leftover Chinese or pizza, then slam the door with a curse.
Unable to stop myself, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial Lauren’s number again.
Voice mail.
Fuck it.
I grab my keys and jog down to my car. I’m going to make sure she’s okay. Her house is at the edge of town, so it only takes me about ten minutes to get there. I can’t explain the pull I feel toward her. Hell, we grew up together, but it’s only been in the past six months or so that I feel drawn to her in ways I can’t put into words. My body yearns for her, I need to feel her, kiss her.
Protect her.
Jillian would laugh at me and accuse me of finding another broken woman to try to fix, but she’s wrong. Lauren isn’t broken, not by a long shot. The woman has more fight in her than just about anyone else I know.
Knowing her divorce was almost final, and seeing her around town, smiling shyly, trying to blend in—as if she ever could!—has had me in a permanent state of arousal since I saw her help a lost little boy find his mom on Main Street months ago. She’s been in my head, and I can’t seem to shake her loose.
Lo’s Mercedes is parked out front when I pull into her drive, and I feel a surge of both relief and anger. Why the hell isn’t she answering the phone?
I ring her bell and wait, my eyes moving over the house and property. There’s no movement.
I ring the bell again and then pound on the door. She has to be here. Just as I’m about to back away and search the side of the house for another entrance, she pulls the door open, and the air leaves me.
Her big blue eyes are wide and glassy. Her gorgeous hair has been pulled on top of her head, but half of it has escaped out the back and is falling down her shoulders. She’s in a skintight, black tank top and yoga shorts. No shoes.
“Are you sick?” I ask, instantly concerned.
“What?” She scratches her head and frowns. “No, I’m working.”
“Working?” I ask incredulously. I had no idea she worked. I assumed she lived off her trust fund.
“Yeah.” She nods and steps back, giving me room to enter. I move past her, into her home. The house, the oldest one in town, is massive. The inside is lushly furnished, in warm tones and inviting furniture. I look back to Lauren, to find her rubbing her forehead and blinking rapidly.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure you’re not sick? When was the last time you had a shower, sweetheart?” I smile gently at her as she winces and her cheeks warm.
“I don’t know.” She scrunches up her nose in thought. “What day is it?”
“What day is it?” What the hell is going on here? “Lauren, what kind of work have you been doing?”
“I’m a writer,” she responds immediately, then scowls. “Really, what day is it?”
“Friday,” I say, and watch as her mind clears. It’s fascinating. “How long have you been working?”
“Since Tuesday night.”
“Since Tuesday?” I’m pissed off all over again. “Jesus, Lo, have you even eaten?”
“Why are you mad?” She scowls. “If you’re gonna be mad, you can go be mad somewhere else. The story is flowing and I have work to do.”
“You haven’t been answering your phone, Lauren,” I reply, consciously lowering my voice.
“I think it died two days ago.”
“Two days ago?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” She plants her hands on her narrow hips, pushing her perfect, round breasts out.
Jesus, she’s not wearing a bra.
She walks past me, through two open French doors into a large office. A wide, dark desk dominates the room. Her laptop is sitting open with a Word file waiting for her to return to it. Yellow sticky notes cover every surface, and what looks like two-day-old pizza is sitting in a chair across the room. A plush chaise lounge sits under the big picture window, covered with pillows and a blanket, as though someone just woke from a nap.
“Is someone staying with you?”
“No, I sleep there for a few hours to recharge my batteries.”
“Lauren, I had no idea you were a writer.” I stand in her office and turn in a circle, taking it all in, and immediately feel overwhelming pride. “What do you write?”
She bites her lip and watches me, fidgeting. I can see the wheels turning in her head.
“What do you write, Lo?” I ask again, genuinely curious.
“I don’t share this with anyone, Ty.”
“Hey.” I move to her and tuck a piece of her soft hair behind her ear, then pull her lower lip out from between her teeth. God, but I want to taste her. “I’m good at keeping secrets.” I grin down at her. “Part of my job, remember?”
Her face relaxes into a soft smile, and my gut clenches. She’s stunning. Jack is the biggest idiot on the face of the earth. If she were mine, I’d never let her go.
“I write books,” she whispers.
“What kind of books?” I tilt my head to the side and watch her closely.
“Just books.” She shrugs.
“Lauren.” Her wary gaze finds mine. It looks like she wants to tell me, but doesn’t know if she should. “I promise, sweetheart, this is just between you and me. I’d love to know more about this.”
She eyes me for a few more seconds, and just when I think she’s going to refuse, she turns away from me and rummages around in her desk. When she returns, she shoves a dollar bill at me. “There, now you’re my lawyer and you can’t tell anyone.”
I smirk down at her and shove the dollar back at her.
“I’m not going to tell anyone whether I’m your lawyer or not, Lauren.” I take a deep breath. “You can trust me.”
She walks to a closet in the corner, opens it, and pulls a book out of a box and returns to me, holding it out.
My eyes go wide. I’m stunned speechless.
I take the book from her and run my fingertips over the soft green cover.
“A Spark of Passion,” I whisper, and raise my eyes to meet hers. “You’re . . . ?”
“Peyton Adams.” She holds her breath.
Jillian’s words from not even an hour ago run through my mind. They’re going to be made into movies.
“Lo, these books are huge.”
She smiles proudly and nods and then frowns at me. “You read romance novels?”
“No.” I laugh. “Jill is reading this book right now. Besides, they’ve been all over the news.”
“Jill’s reading it?” Lo smiles widely. “Does she like it?”
“Yeah, she loves it.” I nod as Lo takes the book out of my hands and lays it on her desk. “So, you write those?”
“Yeah.” She nods, her face somber again, and watches me carefully. “I can’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“Jack.” It’s a whisper, and it’s all suddenly crystal clear.
I nod. “You’re afraid that Jack would try to claim half and make your life a living hell.”
Tears fill her eyes and she nods.
“Hey, come here.” I pull her into my arms and hold her tightly against me, her head tucked under my chin. Her tall frame fits me perfectly. She takes a long, shuddering breath and leans into me, wraps her arms around my waist, and just holds on. I wonder how long it’s been since someone just held her. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“I know,” she murmurs.
“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper into her hair.
She pulls back and looks up at me with surprised eyes. “Why?”
“This is amazing, Lauren. You’re doing something you obviously love, and you’re beyond successful at it. It’s something to be proud of.” My chest is full of pride and admiration for this amazing woman.
“Thank you.” She smiles shyly.
“I have an idea.” I pull away and take her hands in mine, leading her out of the office. “You go have a shower and I’ll make you dinner.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she rushes to assure me, but I hold my hand up to stop her.
“I do.” Despite her height, she looks so small standing here before me, still unsure and looking a little lost.
I need to take care of her.
“I’d love to spend the evening with you, learn more about your work, but I think I’d enjoy it more if you took a shower.” I grin and can’t help but tease her.
She blushes. “Smell that bad?”
“Not at all,” I lie easily. “You smell like flowers on a spring day.”
She laughs and heads for the stairs. “Okay, I’ll take a break for a few hours. I can’t guarantee what state the kitchen is in.” She shrugs. “Hazard of the job.”
“I’ll muddle my way through.” I wave her off and watch her long legs climb the stairs. “Take your time, sweetheart.”
Her gaze lowers to mine in surprise at the term of endearment and my heart squeezes. Does no one show her kindness? Support?
Love?
“Thank you,” she whispers, and disappears upstairs.
I grin as I head for her kitchen, pulling my phone out as I go.
I’m gonna owe Jill a favor.