Present Day

I was supposed to meet with Brad in ten minutes, but all of my plans had just changed. Ever since he’d first brought up settling in the Carmichael case, I’d been predisposed to disagree with him. Maybe it’d been a knee-jerk reaction at first, but within a few weeks and several banker boxes worth of research, it became much more than that.

“Kaycee?” said Freddie, lingering near my desk. “We’re going to grab lunch at the market. Want to come?”

I shook my head, barely looking up from my computer screen. “Thanks, but I think I’m onto something.” I flashed a smile in Freddie’s direction in case she thought I was being rude and then continued my frantic browsing through case law.

Yes!

I had an idea. Just enough of one that I could bring to Brad to back up my choices. Mrs. Carmichael shouldn’t settle. Being a successful businesswoman was being used against her unfairly by her soon-to-be ex-husband, and, perhaps more importantly, her ex-husband’s mother. And now I had a cohesive narrative to present that argued her ex-husband’s mother’s input was unfairly biased.

I printed a few sheets of research as I dashed around my desk, gathering notes and a pen before I trotted down the hall to Brad’s office. It didn’t bode well for my future at EKT that Brad was given an office and I had a lowly cubicle near the copiers, but I tried to attribute that to luck rather than talent.

He’d just happened to be hired when an office was vacated, and I followed shortly afterwards. EKT was growing but hadn’t leased new space in a long time. We were bursting at the seams. And yet they still had this sadistic tradition of pitting associate against associate.

Hell, it didn’t matter to me whether it was a tradition or not.

I was going to win.

There was no way I’d take life throwing me so many curveballs at once and not hit one back squarely. Sure, Greg was an asshole. Ok, so I had no idea what was going on with Winston. But work? I could handle.

I rounded the corner into Brad’s office and set the files down at his desk before he had the chance to greet me.

“We’re going to court,” I said.

“Can you be more specific?” Brad said, glancing at me before he continued typing. “That happens a lot around here.”

“Carmichael.”

“Ah,” said Brad. He folded his hands in his lap, leaning back from the desk with an air of indulgence. “I really think it’s best if we settle out of court, Kaycee. Mr. Carmichael has been the primary caregiver for those children for years, and travel documents support the fact that Mrs. Carmichael has been around the world several times over for her business. It’s in the best interests of the children to stay with the parent they’re most used to.”

“I think the mother in law’s covering for her son,” I said.

Brad frowned at me, his lips pursed as if he’d just eaten a foul prank candy. “Why would you think that?”

“She’s gotten so involved because Mr. Carmichael went on a lot of those business trips, too. Only now he’s trying to pretend like he was the doting father when he was actually tagging along to Ibiza, Provence, Bali.”

“Even if that were true, Kaycee, how does that help Mrs. Carmichael? Doesn’t that just make it the both of them that were neglectful?”

I flinched, the word so harsh when held up to a successful woman like Carmichael. I knew the world often judged ambitious women harshly, but hearing it from a fellow lawyer stung.

I’d like to think if I had children someday, people wouldn’t say I was neglectful for continuing to work.

“I wouldn’t say that, it’s more that this clear attempt to manipulate the court is unbefitting a good father. It puts his character into question, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Kaycee,” said Brad. He chewed his lip, still leaning back in his chair. But if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a spark of interest in Brad’s eyes that wasn’t there minutes before.

I was on to something, I knew it.

He just had to admit it.

I had to trust that Brad was as invested in success for the case as I was. I put the folder of documents down in front of him and let him read through them while I waited.

Settling would mean Mrs. Carmichael would pay alimony to Mr. Carmichael, in addition to losing primary custody of her children. The onerous demands Mr. Carmichael was making included limiting her access to major holidays, with a 2-week extra period of contact sometime during the summer. It was basically taking them and treating Mrs. Carmichael like a sloppy Aunt who’d rush in at Christmas to peck them on the cheek and then run away to Fiji.

No matter how busy Mrs. Carmichael was, I knew she loved her children. She’d called me in tears the other day, imploring me to tell her whether she’d made a huge mistake in pursuing her business in the first place.

“Was it even worth it if I don’t get to be with my family?” she’d said, her voice so small I wanted to reach through the phone and hug her. Here was this pillar of her field, worth billions, reduced to shame-faced regret and worry. Divorce was hard enough without that kind of shit.

And what I’d discovered in my research were bank records, just a few, from Mrs. Carmichael’s mother in law. She had a joint account with her son—absurd enough already for a grown man—and several payments had been made to a travel company at the time when the couple filed for divorce. The same travel company we’d received records from pointing towards Mrs. Carmichael’s frequent travel.

Once I’d asked the firm’s investigator to look into it, she’d come back with evidence from her airport security contact that Mr. Carmichael had in fact been on many of the trips Mrs. Carmichael had taken.

I’d bet anything on those payments to the travel company being bribes to hide the travel.

Mr. Carmichael and his scheming mother had better watch out, cause Kaycee Goodwin was on the case.

“Ok, fine,” said Brad.

I strode out, triumphant, almost forgetting to take the case folder with me on the way back to my desk, though I turned and grabbed it at the last second. When I got back to the dim cubicle I called my work home, I saw my phone light up with a text from Winston.

“Can we talk?” was all it said.

Suddenly, the confidence of my victory with Brad melted into a puddle at the base of my stomach. I was awash in nerves, lust, and some ineffable feeling that made my skin tingle.

If only I could feel that certitude with Winston. If only I knew for sure what I wanted, what he wanted.

Guess I would find out.

* * *

The air in Winston’s house smelled like orange blossoms from the way he’d kept the windows open all day. I could tell that’s what he’d done because a stray breeze still puffed through the window by the kitchen sink where I washed my hands after coming home.

“Going to make a snack,” I called out to the house, half hoping it was empty even as I said it. “Want anything?”

I jumped when Winston rounded the corner and leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen.

“Whatcha making?” he said, fiddling with the fridge handle.

Was he as nervous as I was?

What was happening?

I knew that the last time I’d asked him to ‘talk’ that way—so seriously, with no explanation—we’d broken up, as teenagers. But he’d been so supportive throughout my life explosion with Greg that I couldn’t imagine he was going to tell me to leave or something.

Which meant… I wasn’t sure.

“Cheese and crackers?” I said.

“You don’t sound confident about that,” Winston laughed. “Either way, I’m ok, but thanks for offering.”

His voice sounded warm, affectionate even. When my back was turned I could feel his eyes on me still, piercing as if he wanted to remember each expression I made, each line and curve to my body.

I had to admit, I liked the feeling of his eyes on me. They were comfortable, enticing. Not intrusive like some boyfriends I’d had.

Boyfriends?

We weren’t dating, not exactly. But we were definitely hooking up. The urge to wrap my arms around his firm, muscular torso rose as I poured crackers onto a plate. Just the thought of his mouth planted against mine, the hardness in his jeans more and more prominent as we kissed, made my hands shake while I sliced some cheddar.

I glanced back at Winston, who was standing waiting for me to finish the task, a pleasant smile on his face. His eyes were dancing, taking in the sight of me. Watching him watch me like that stirred something within me that needed to be noticed.

I dropped the knife and went to him, kissing him as I threw my arms around him.

He was intoxicating. He was comforting. He was everything I knew I should be leaving alone so I could heal from my past, my pain, and yet the only thing I wanted when I successfully left him alone was more of him.

I didn’t know how I was going to get past that ever-present desire except by yielding to it. So I did.

Someday soon, I’d have to back off and sort out my life, but I didn’t want that day to be today. Not yet. Maybe after the Carmichael divorce case was done and my work future was secure, I could plumb the depths of what I felt for Winston. I couldn’t tell if it was madness or the sanest thing I’d ever done.

All I knew was that I wanted to do it again, and again, and again. Time spent without his hands on me was wasted time, indeed.

“It’s good to see you,” I heard myself say. It sounded like a voice at the far end of a tunnel, I was so entranced by Winston’s cheekbones. When he pursed his lips in amusement, it made his already impressive bone structure gleam with angles.

“You too, K,” he said. And he circled me in his hands, those warm palms heavy on my hips. It drew my lust out from the simmering pot it had been bubbling in, ever-present while around him, but subtle nonetheless. With Winston’s touch, it began to boil.

A shiver ran up my back from where he touched me, tracing the path of my spine until it reached the base of my neck and slid up my scalp. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was what my body was meant to do, that my physical existence was designed to be in this exact place and time with Winston.

We were destined to touch, to meet, and to take pleasure in each other. Or that was what it felt like in that moment. With Winston’s hands running up my sides, caressing my breasts until I breathed hot and curled into him raging with desire.

I knew he’d wanted to talk, but surely it could wait until we’d touched. Nothing seemed as important as his hands right then. Nothing, that is, until he pushed his hips against mine and I felt his rock hard bulge on my body.

“Winston,” I said, breathing his name as if it were an incantation.

He didn’t respond, only bent his head to place the tenderest kisses down my neck, so light they could have been imagined if it wasn’t for the way my body hummed at each delicate touch. Within me, warmth was awakening, slowly but with great hunger.

“K,” said Winston, nipping at the skin on my neck gently.

He reached a hand down into my suit pants, wending his way past my underwear to touch me, his fingers warm against my eager body. I couldn’t contain a gasp, clutching at Winston’s bicep with my hand. He was so solid, his arms strengthened from daily practice at the drums. I’d seen him after a session, sweaty and ferocious, and the thought of it hastened my lust.

Luckily, Win’s fingers were stroking me, a steady rhythm that sharpened my senses and made me need to brace myself against him from how my legs threatened to shake.

Another moan floated out of me as my head tilted back to more fully enjoy Winston’s touch.

“I want you over and over again,” I whispered to him, pressing my face to his chest, my forehead barely making its way to his pecs. Winston was taller than I remembered.

It was as if his years of stardom had actually made him larger than life. Or maybe my memories never did him justice. Whatever it was, I longed for him with a vigor that almost frightened me.

Before I could say anything else, Winston responded by slipping two fingers inside me, bit by bit, causing me to gasp and clutch onto him tighter. Once he’d reached the depth he desired, he brought his thumb into the mix, stirring my clit in gentle circles while he continued to move his fingers with a steady pace, in and out, in and out.

“God damn, Sargent,” I said, closing my eyes to focus more fully on the ecstasy of what he was doing to my body.

As if that wasn’t enough, Winston used his other hand to massage my breast, playing me like any one of the instruments he’d learned over the years of a professional musician’s life. I knew I wouldn’t last long in the face of this complete, all-consuming pleasure.

I felt as dazed and starry-eyed as any drunk, but instead of alcohol my substance was Winston: his sandy-stubbled, masculine jaw, the delectable bulge of his muscles against the casual cotton shirt he wore, the catastrophically handsome blue of his blazing, deep-set eyes.

“I wish you could always be touching me,” I whispered.

“I can,” he whispered back. “If you want me to, I can.”

Our eyes met, his hand still working at me with a languorous pace while we stared at one another.

And I sensed a change in the air between us. Where there had once been pure lust, the drive to touch, taste, thrust, now a tender mood I couldn’t quite place had settled into the spaces where we weren’t already touching. I wasn’t sure what was happening.

Suddenly, everything felt stronger. More intense. More, just more.

My vulnerability became more noticeable, the way I was splay-legged in front of the man who knew me better than anyone. I blinked up at Winston, unsure of how to proceed, what to say.

So I said nothing. Just moved slightly closer, clinging to his formidable body with my lightly shaking hands as he kept touching me, driving me towards a peak I eagerly anticipated just as much as I didn’t want it to happen, because then this small slice of time we found ourselves in would disappear.

Within a few more strokes, Win had me gasping, my eyes shut as the feeling rushed over me, wave after wave of the kind of pleasure I craved that met the one I didn’t know how to name, a deeper satisfaction than anything I’d had before. It sat beneath the surface of the moment, but I knew it was there.

If only I knew what to do about it. If only Win didn’t have to talk to me. I longed for us to return to his bedroom and toss the covers over ourselves, retreating to slumber for the rest of the evening. There, we would be safe.

There, I wouldn’t have to reckon with the moment that had just passed between us.

Win drew in a deep breath and I knew he was about to start telling me what he’d wanted to tell me all this time.

“Kaycee,” he said.

“Yeah, Win?”

“I wanted to talk to you because I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said. And he’d crossed his arms across his chest, those delicious muscles all the more apparent from the gesture. Without meaning to, I found myself running a hand along his forearm, appreciating the sinew and muscle and hair. Though Winston watched me do it, he said nothing.

A pause.

“And?” I said. Within my belly, there was a queasy fire burning, rippling with all sorts of dread. I hated uncertainty. And I hated myself for being so cowardly with someone else’s feelings.

I couldn’t take this right now.

Whatever ‘this’ was.

From my purse, a trilling interruption came at the precise moment we locked eyes. The phone rang so insistently I flinched and then scrambled to answer it.

“That’s my work phone,” I said. A cloud passed over Winston’s face and he tensed, jaw tight as he waited for me to answer.

“Ms. Goodwin,” said the deep voice on the line. “Bradley has informed me that you’re planning to go to court on the Carmichael case.”

It was O’Donaghy. My eyes widened at Winston, not that he could tell who it was from my expression. I needed to convey that this was a serious conversation. His face transformed from tension to worry, rapt with concern for me.

“Yes, sir, that’s my strategy for the case.”

There was another pause, this time crackling with the fear that I was about to be fired, or reprimanded, or maybe both.

“I’d like to meet to discuss it, then. You’ll need an airtight narrative.”

I exhaled, just realizing then that I’d been holding my breath. And then I inhaled, the oxygen sweet and welcome, though I needed to hold onto Win’s arm to steady myself.

“Of course, sir. I can have my files ready first thing tomorrow morning for your review.”

“I’d prefer this evening,” he said.

“All right.”

And though I saw the disappointment etched on Winston’s face when I begged his forgiveness, my excuses flowing rapidly as I packed my work bag up again, there was a tiny voice inside me rejoicing that I had a chance.

Maybe I’d get to keep my job after all.

If only the cost didn’t seem to be everything else around me.