Love Proof (Laws of Attraction) (22 page)

Abruptly Joe pulled away and strode toward the bathroom.  He returned
with a handful of condoms.

“Joe…” Sarah said with a laugh.

“I wanted to be ready,” he said.  “In case you ever said yes.”

“How long have you been waiting?” she asked.

“Six years.”

Her expression darkened.  And one of the barriers instantly went back
up.  “I’m serious, Joe.  You need to be careful here.”

“All right, then,” he said, “two months.  Does that make you feel
better?”

Sarah nodded.  And tried to shake off that flash of momentary anger.

“Do you have any good ideas?” Joe asked.

“About?”

“What comes next.”

“Lots of them,” Sarah said.  And if Joe meant something else, she
didn’t want to know it as she reached for him again to take what she had been
missing for far too long.

Twenty-four

“Sarah.”

“Mmm.”

“We have to get up.”

She snuggled deeper into the cradle of his arms as he spooned her from
behind.

“Sarah.”  He kissed her shoulder.  “We really have to get up.”

She heard the alarm, too, and knew he was right.  They had to be at the
airport by six-thirty, and she still needed time to return to her hotel, shower
and change, pack, and turn in the rental car.

But it seemed impossible in that moment to leave the comfort of his
body.

Joe kissed her one more time, then let her go and climbed out of bed. 
She watched while he crossed the room to the coffee maker and began brewing a
cup.

She studied his naked form from behind.  “I like the way you look now. 
I like touching all those muscles.  I like the way you feel against me.”

“Sarah, if you say anything more, I’m never going to be able to leave
this hotel room.”

He turned just enough for her to see his growing erection.  She smiled
and rolled onto her back to gaze at the ceiling.

“Here,” he said a moment later, handing her the first cup of coffee. 
He stared at her the way she had been staring at him, taking in all the
contours of her body, the slopes and angles, the various changes since they’d
last been together.

Sarah liked the attention.  It had been a long time since she let
someone look at her.  She liked the visible effect it was having on Burke.

But he was right, they had to get to work.

“I don’t do coffee anymore,” she said, “but if you have tea, I’ll take
it.”

Although considering how little sleep she’d gotten, a cup of strong black
coffee sounded like a much wiser choice.

She forced herself from the bed and retrieved her pajamas from the area
just inside Joe’s door.  “Can I borrow this?” she asked, holding up his
hoodie.  “Just for the ride back.”

Joe’s eyes raked her naked body again.  He groaned and disappeared into
the bathroom.

Sarah took that as a yes.

She dressed, then brought a cup of tea with her back to Joe’s bed to
wait.  She propped a pillow behind her and pulled the covers up over her legs
and spent the next several minutes replaying scenes from the night before.  He
was a better lover now, in so many ways.  More patient, more inventive, more .
. . skilled.

She forced herself not to think of how many women he had been with
since her who would have given him that practice.  She already knew she
couldn’t trust him.  She would never make that mistake again.

But it didn’t mean she had to deny herself the pleasure of a purely
physical relationship with him.  It was no different from eating right and
working out:  her body wanted certain things now, and it was up to her to
provide them.

And to be smart about it this time.

Joe emerged from the bathroom and picked up his own clothes from the
heap by the door.  He was dressed within a minute, then asked, “Ready?”

“What do you think?” Sarah asked, hugging her knees to her chest and looking
him straight in the eye.  “Was this the only time?”

“I sure as hell hope not, but we’ll see.  Come on, Red, I have to take
you back.”

***

She had now been in the Salt Lake City airport far more times than she
ever dreamed she would.  And she would be back there the next day and the one
after that, since it was the hub for all their Montana and Idaho flights.  She
thought about driving between some of her destinations, but even with all the
hassle of trying to bounce from one regional airport to another, it was still
faster than traveling by car.  And at least she could work in the airport and
on the planes, so she accepted the itinerary as planned.

“How are you holding up, Henley?” Joe asked as he appeared at her side
rolling his carry-on down the concourse.  He seemed absorbed by what he was
reading on his phone, and Sarah doubted that anyone watching them would guess
they were speaking to each other.

“Exhausted,” she said.  “I need more than two hours of sleep.”

“We should try to get to bed earlier tonight,” he said, still not
looking at her.  Sarah’s body flushed in response.  She could feel the moisture
building from just that one simple statement.  The idea of being back in bed
with Joe as soon as possible made her want to turn around and return to his
hotel, and skip the flight altogether.

“I’ll think about it,” Sarah said, hoping to sound less affected by him
than she was.

They walked in silence until Sarah could see their gate just up ahead. 
Then Joe asked, “What’s your phone number?”

Sarah hesitated, but then gave him the numbers to input into his phone. 
She could see Marcela to their right, curled up on one of the chairs, snoozing
against her wadded up coat.

“See you later,” Joe said.  Then he lengthened his stride and let her
walk the rest of the way alone.

Sarah spied someone drinking from Starbucks cup, and it was one too
many temptations for her to try to resist that morning.  She reversed course to
where she knew she passed one of the kiosks, and stood in line already savoring
how that first sip would taste.  Angie had been right advising her to overhaul
her diet last year—Sarah felt so much better just a week into the
experiment—but these were extraordinary times, she told herself, and she was
only human.

She returned to the gate area, cup in hand, and stole another look at
Joe.  He sat looking so serious and adult in his gray suit, dress shirt, and
tie.  She watched him as he typed into his laptop, his brow furrowed in
concentration.  Then, whether he sensed her there or just happened to look up
at that moment, the two of them locked eyes ever so briefly before Sarah
continued on and sat in a different section.

She hated those moments in movies when the characters exchanged secret
glances that anyone in the vicinity with half a brain would have noticed.  It
made her look around for Paul Chapman, wondering what he would make of that one
weak moment.

She found him splayed out on a chair, legs wide, head thrown back as he
snored.  She glanced at Marcela again, too, knowing the court reporter would be
more attuned to seeing something pass between Sarah and Joe.

But Marcela still slept, and so Sarah felt safe looking at him again, just
for a minute.  She took a sip of dark coffee and secretly studied his handsome
face.

God, she wanted him.  Wanted to hold that face in her hands and kiss that
mouth, wanted to feel his hands on her, his skin against hers, the weight of
his body, the pleasure of him inside her.  Her nerves still buzzed from
everything he had already done to her and from the promise there might be
more.  Was it so wrong to want this time together, here in the purgatory of
their lives?

But it wasn’t just their history together that warned her of all the
risks involved.  This wasn’t just about her and Joe.

There were still a few minutes before the gate agent would begin
calling rows.  Sarah fed a search into her phone.

California rules of ethics, conflict of interest.

It took her a moment of scrolling through the list to find the rule she
was looking for.

Rule 3-320  Relationship With Other Party’s Lawyer

A member of the Bar shall not represent a client in a
matter in which another party’s lawyer is a spouse, parent, child, or sibling
of the member, lives with the member, is a client of the member, or has an intimate
personal relationship with the member, unless the member informs the client in
writing of the relationship.

There was no denying, Sarah thought, that she now had an intimate
personal relationship with the member.  In her sleep-deprived state, she almost
snickered at the reference to “member.”  But she knew this wasn’t funny.  She
had crossed a line the night before—they both had.  And it wasn’t in Sarah’s
nature to violate the rules.

It was why she hated any suggestion that she had been involved in any
way with the illegal activities of her old firm.  Sarah’s reputation was
squeaky clean before, and she intended for it to be again, once the taint of
April 6 finally washed away.

A text popped onto her screen.

I missed you.

Sarah closed her eyes.  Joe had no intention of making this easy for
her.  She should have known that from the moment he pulled up in front of
Walmart the week before.  Should have known it for certain from the mischievous,
wicked look he gave her in the checkout line.  Or from the soft kiss he planted
on her lips while she recovered in the mountain clinic.  Or from the way he
took care of her when no one else would.

He had been working on her for longer than just last night, Sarah knew,
longer than just their time at dinner as he stroked her thigh beneath the table.

He wanted this as much as she did.

Which didn’t make it any less complicated, or any less unethical.

Sarah shut off her phone without texting him back.

Twenty-five

At the deposition in Billings, Montana that afternoon, Chapman rattled
off his questions so quickly, Marcela looked like she was having a hard time
keeping up.

“Where were you born—what is your work history—where did you go to
school—did you graduate—who are your parents . . . ?”

At one point Joe finally had to say, “Off the record.  Paul, you have
to give her time to answer.”

“I thought we all wanted to speed it up,” he answered.  “Isn’t that
what you said, Sarah?”

“Asking only relevant questions would be a big help,” she said, “yes.”

“You do your job,” Chapman said, “I’ll do mine.  Back on,” he told
Marcela, then continued reciting questions from his notes.

Sarah resisted exchanging any kind of look with Burke, even if this one
was justified by their work.  Instead she resorted to writing the word
ASS
on her legal pad and then decorating the letters with dramatic shading and
smoke rising out of the A and long tails growing from the Ss.  She looped the
tails into swirls and circles that then became sinister-looking eyeballs and
grinning demons.  Yes, she was really going to miss Chapman when he went.

“Hi, Ms. Harowitz,” she said when it was her turn.  She read somewhere
that people in the service industry were familiar with the “post-asshole”
customer experience.  If someone has witnessed a store clerk or a barista being
abused by the customer ahead, by the time the next person steps up, he or she
bends over backward to be nice. 
“Sure!  No problem.  Whatever you can do.”

Sarah felt a little of that impulse now.  Joe’s client had been very
tolerant of what was truly a bad example of lawyering.

“Thank you for coming in today,” Sarah said.  “I know you had to take
time off of work, and we all really appreciate it.”

Chapman grunted.

“We won’t keep you much longer,” Sarah said.  “I’m interested in just a
few things.  You said you received the hair iron for Christmas.  How soon after
that did you use it?”

“The next day, I think,” Joe’s client said.  She still seemed tense
from Chapman’s questioning, but Sarah hoped to see her relax soon.  Being courteous
and professional with a witness often seemed to have that effect.  Sarah
wondered if Chapman had ever tried it.

“How often do you have to straighten your hair?” She asked.  “I do mine
about every three days—more often if I’ve just worked out or I’ve gotten it wet.”

“Oh,
this
is relevant,” Chapman sneered.  “Thanks for showing me
how it’s done.”

Sarah ignored him.  “So how often would you say you straighten yours?”

Now that it was simply a conversation—and about a topic both women had
in common—Joe’s client opened up.  Sarah wasn’t pretending:  she genuinely
wanted to know what steps Ms. Harowitz went through to wash, condition, dry,
then iron her hair.  It was just woman-to-woman for a while, both of them comparing
stories about how difficult their hair had been all their lives, and what
they’d gone through to try to tame it.