Kitabı oku: «Hard To Handle», sayfa 3

Mikki flicked a length of ash and blinked back the sudden moisture blurring her vision. Who would’ve thought after all this time tough-as-nails Mikki Correlli could still tear up at the thought of a failed marriage? Sure as hell not her. She no longer allowed her emotions to control her actions.

She hadn’t always been so resilient. The truth was, if it hadn’t been for her family, she honestly didn’t know if she would’ve survived the aftermath of Nolan once she’d sobered up. When the strength she’d always prided herself on had come close to deserting her again, her sisters and mother were there for her, offering their support without judgment, even if they hadn’t agreed with the choices she’d made.

The urge to go home suddenly hit her hard. Not to her cozy apartment in the Marina District, but to the comfort of her mom’s place on Garrison Street near Haight and Ashbury.

Suddenly she craved the gentle scents of cinnamon candles and strawberry incense, the strains of the Grateful Dead, Joan Baez or the Doors lingering in the background. The solidity of the spindle-back oak chairs at the ancient oak table in the spacious kitchen decorated with chickens and roosters, where she could sit and sip one of her mom’s specialty herb tea blends and regain a proper perspective of her own role in the universe.

Tonight she wanted to listen to Emma reminisce about Haight-Ashbury, the Summer of Love, how she had traveled across the country in a VW bus to Woodstock and about the Oregon commune she’d lived in and where Rory had been born. Maybe Mikki would get lucky and recapture her own sense of calm. Although, she thought with a teary smile, she did often wonder if Emma’s always sage advice wasn’t peppered by the occasional acid flashback. Emma had experienced a few wilder moments in her free-love, mind-expanding days.

Her smile faded the instant she sensed Nolan’s presence behind her. Once again she wondered at his reason for returning to the city. The last she’d heard he’d been busy setting legal precedent in several landmark cases. Some rulings she had silently applauded, others she’d vehemently cursed when reading about them in the quarterly supplements to the California Reporter. Because she read the periodicals faithfully to familiarize herself with new decisions in regard to matters related to her area of expertise, it was difficult not to notice the Baylor name when it appeared with such regularity.

When he joined her, she quietly asked, “Why are you here, Nolan?”

Facing her, he rested his hand on the railing. He wore one of those rascal grins she’d always adored. “To unlock a few possibilities.”

She didn’t appreciate his humor. “I’m serious.” Thank goodness the odds of that happening were one in at least two hundred and fifty. More, possibly, judging by the size of the crowd that had turned out to support Baxter House.

His grin deepened, as if he knew something she didn’t. “So am I,” he arrogantly countered.

Not comfortable with all that cocky self-assurance aimed at her, Mikki’s defensiveness became more pronounced. “You never did know how to be serious.”

The smile faded and he let out a rough sigh. He pushed off the railing. “Can we sheathe the claws for a while?” He moved closer, eliminating the distance between them. “I came to talk to you, not fight.”

Unless she was prepared to climb over the thick round base of the planter to escape him, which she wasn’t—yet, he’d managed to effectively corner her. “So, now you’ve seen me,” she said with a careless shrug she had no hope of believing was real. “Curiosity satisfied?”

He swept the length of her with his gaze, his eyes lingering a moment too long on her breasts. The way he was blatantly staring at her with such unmistakable desire caused her nipples to bead and tighten.

Some things never changed.

“God, you look so good.” He took the remains of the cigarette from her fingers and tossed it into the Pacific before gently dragging the back of his hand down her cheek.

The lump in her throat tripled in size.

“But,” he added, his voice dropping to a low, husky timbre, “you always did.”

Awareness stirred within her. She stared at his mouth. “So do you.” The admission slipped out before she could stop herself. An overwhelming urge to kiss him gripped her—hard. She trembled.

He continued to hold her gaze as he tipped her face upward with the pad of his thumb. Anticipation sizzled between them. Just as it always had, she thought.

Slowly he lowered his head.

“Nolan.” Her soft whisper sounded remarkably reminiscent of an invitation rather than a protest. And honest, she decided. Regardless of how insane and stupid it was, she wanted him to kiss her.

The first feathery brush of his lips against hers instantly ignited her senses, taking her by total surprise. She hadn’t known what to expect, but she sure as hell hadn’t counted on her heart pounding or her insides turning to mush from an overload of sexual excitement.

She really did know better. With Nolan, indifference ceased to exist. He’d always made her feel too much. Too much love. Too much anger. Too much passion. Too much pain.

Damn you.

When he settled his mouth more firmly over hers and deepened the kiss, she tried to tell herself the only reason she responded, the only viable excuse for slipping her arms around his neck, stemmed from the shock of seeing him again. Clearly she wasn’t capable of thinking straight. Under normal circumstances, she never would’ve dreamed of plastering herself against him.

But she did and he tugged her even closer. He pulled her into a tailspin of sensation no woman who prided herself on calling the shots would ever dare welcome—or tolerate.

God help her, it wasn’t nearly enough.

In one step he had her up against the rough stucco wall, surrounding her with the heat of his body. Flaming, steamy memories flashed through her mind. His hands, his lips, the thick, hard length of him pulsing in her hands, in her mouth, thrusting relentlessly into her until the control she never could maintain with him shattered and she flew apart.

The insistent ache of desire dampened her. She wanted to recreate those memories with a desperation so fierce it left her as breathless as his hot, wet kiss.

No. She would not, could not, go there again. Ever. He was her drug of choice, her fix. She’d plummeted to rock bottom once and had barely survived the experience. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d risk that kind of pain again, not when she couldn’t be certain she possessed enough strength to crawl back the next time.

With every last shred of willpower she could summon, she planted her palms firmly on his chest and shoved him away. “No.” The command sounded as ragged as her breathing—and about as convincing. “This is not going to happen.”

Not again. Not ever again.

He took a reluctant step back, jammed his fingers through his hair and stared at her. She found no comfort from the fact he appeared as shaken as her by the heat that had flared up so quickly between them.

She prayed for numbness. Her body continued to hum defiantly with desire.

Just one more in a long line of unanswered prayers, she thought cynically. As if she should be surprised.

“What do you want, Nolan?” she asked him again. Her terse question fell short of rudeness due to the distinct tremor lacing her voice. Her trembling hands didn’t help much, either. “And I want an answer this time.”

He scrubbed his hand down his face. The wariness in his expression immediately filled her with dread.

“Nolan?” Her apprehension climbed with each passing silent second. “What? What is it?”

“When was the last time you were in Mexico?”

She frowned. Carefully she reached for the half empty glass of soda she’d left on the ledge of the redwood railing. She’d rather have a cigarette. Better yet, a drink.

“I’ve never been there.” He, on the other hand, had spent the requisite twenty-four hours south of the border, she thought, feeling the bite of old hostility and resentment for what she’d insisted on in the first place.

She shook her head. Holding him responsible when she’d been the one to demand the fastest method possible to put an end to their marriage was hardly fair or reasonable. “Why?” she asked cautiously.

“You never filed for a legal name change, either, did you?”

Icy cold fingers of panic slid around her throat and squeezed, threatening her air supply. “No,” she managed to say in a choked whisper. “There wasn’t any need to. You know that.”

She’d refused to take his name once they’d married, which had infuriated him. But she’d refused to budge on the issue, so he’d eventually conceded defeat, albeit with massive reluctance. Although he’d never brought the subject up again, he’d made no secret of the fact that he wasn’t happy with her decision to keep her own name. She hadn’t needed some antiquated tradition of assuming her husband’s name to know she was married, but in reality, as long as she kept her own name, she knew she’d never forget who or what she was—a Correlli. Not that she really held an ounce of admiration for her lineage, but she couldn’t allow herself the false sense of security of the Baylor name.

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her expectantly…waiting for her to put the pieces together. His eyes held everything she didn’t want to know.

“Oh, God. We’re not still…”

No, no, no. Not possible. Life could not be that cruel, could it?

“Married?” he finished for her.

She nodded because she didn’t believe herself capable of more than insane babbling.

A wry grin tipped his mouth. “Next time you hire a lawyer, Mikki, a word of advice—” he bent forward until they were practically nose to nose “—make sure he hasn’t been disbarred first.”

3

“DISBARRED! Are you sure?”

Mikki’s stomach bottomed out at Nolan’s slow, confirming nod. Surely they couldn’t still be legally married.

“Why? But how? After all this time?”

They just couldn’t still be married.

He nodded again. “I’m sure, Mikki.”

“No,” she said firmly, as if the small word had the power to erase the truth from his eyes. “It isn’t possible.”

“If it’s any consolation,” he said, “I was just as floored by the news.”

“Floored” hardly came close. Dumbstruck, blindsided and bewildered were more apt descriptions for the shock of the blow he’d just delivered. She felt as if she’d been sucker-punched. By a gorilla.

“Some consolation,” she complained. She almost wished she hadn’t pushed him away. An overload of sexual excitement, even with the wrong man, was better than hearing the news he’d just given her. “Why am I only finding out about this now?”

“Probably because the lawyer you hired didn’t bother to mention he’d been disbarred about a week before you retained him.” His voice was the epitome of calm.

She wanted to scream.

“But…how? Why?”

“The California State Bar Association takes issue with lawyers who play fast and loose with client trust accounts.”

He leaned toward her again. His expression filled with a familiar challenge. “If you had taken my name like I wanted you to, the court clerk’s office would’ve notified us when you filed a name change that your attorney was no longer legally permitted to practice. All this would have been avoided.”

A lightening-hot flash of anger cut through the hazy fog in her brain. He was blaming her?

“So this is all my fault, is that it?” she fired at him, her voice rising. Okay, so maybe he did have a point, but she hadn’t exactly been lucid at the time, either. If she’d been capable of doing so, she would’ve gone to Mexico herself and they wouldn’t be having this insane conversation.

Nolan straightened and rammed his fingers through his wind-tossed hair for the second time. His dark brown eyes glowed with irritation.

Some things never changed, she thought again.

“I didn’t say that,” he said tightly.

No, he hadn’t. She’d jumped to that conclusion all on her own. She understood her irrational reaction stemmed from the emotional bomb he’d just blasted her with, but that didn’t give her the right to be so bitchy toward him. She’d been the one to retain a disbarred attorney, not him.

She let out a slow breath that provided zero calming effect and looked up at Nolan. Her husband?

Some things really never changed.

Oh, God.

“I’m sorry.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple, hoping to relieve the pounding of what promised to be one nasty tension headache. “It’s the shock.”

He accepted her apology with a brusque nod.

Why was this happening? Suffering through the humiliation of another divorce proceeding, even if it were nothing more than a necessary technicality to legally end their marriage, wasn’t something she relished facing. Admitting failure once should be enough punishment for anyone. Even her.

“How did you find out that we’re still…” She couldn’t bring herself to utter the word she’d evicted from her vocabulary the night she’d told him to leave. Right along with love, forever and all that happily-ever-after bullshit. Especially when she should’ve known better than to believe in any of it.

“Married.” He completed the sentence for her, his tone wry. “Say it, Mikki. You won’t choke on it.”

“Wanna bet?”

A fresh wave of couples flooded onto the deck, drowning out the sound of his warm chuckle. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he narrowed the small space that separated them. Rather than reveling in the illusion of privacy, she felt as exposed and raw as the night she’d sent him packing.

“Well?” she prompted, tucking away yet one more unpleasant memory. Her specialty. “Why are we only learning about this now?”

He let out a sigh. “I found out during a routine background check.” He kept his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard by the growing crowd. “It’s firm policy for all partnership candidates under consideration.”

Nolan? A partner? A stuffed shirt more interested in the bottom line than the complexities of the law? His last name might be Baylor, but her soon-to-be-again former husband hadn’t ever been the least bit conservative. Although he easily had the arrogance market cornered, she thought derisively.

“You’re joking, right?”

He frowned, his expression once again framed in irritation. “Is that really so hard for you to believe?”

She folded her arms. “Actually, yes,” she said uncharitably.

His lips thinned.

Guilt immediately pricked her conscience and she let out a long sigh. Why did they always bring out the worst in each other? Couldn’t they, just once, have a civilized conversation without going for the short hairs? Better yet, why couldn’t she at least pretend to behave like a logical, rational adult around him?

Because, she thought, when it came to Nolan, there was nothing reasonable about the way he made her feel. Around him, every emotion, each response, became magnified with brilliant intensity. Whether five or fifty years had passed, she doubted that aspect of her life would ever change.

The throbbing in her temple increased, the tempo sliding right into a double-time staccato of pain. “I’m sorry.” She apologized—again. “It’s just that you never were all that…”

“Serious?” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His frown remained in place. “So you’ve said before.”

She inwardly winced at the reminder, but could he really blame her? They’d once had their electricity shut off for a weekend because they’d come up short that month and hadn’t been able to cover all of their expenses. Nolan hadn’t been all that concerned, whereas she’d freaked. Her need for security and stability clashed with his go-with-the-flow methodology. She planned. Nolan never thought beyond the moment. A miserable combination that had been destined for disaster.

“People do change, Mikki,” he said quietly.

Not in her experience. Her caseload alone supported her belief. Every abused, neglected or abandoned kid she represented was more than enough of a reminder that very few people possessed the strength to turn their lives around and keep them that way. The best she ever hoped for was a safe place for her juvenile clients, away from their abusers or their addicted parents who cared more about their next high than their own children. If she could convince the family court judges and social workers to place the child in the home of someone who at least provided an illusion of caring, then she considered the case a victory.

Oh yeah, people changed, all right…just not anyone she knew.

So what if Nolan had miraculously matured in the years they’d been apart? They would still be all wrong for each other. And she’d do well to remember that, too, and not the way he’d kissed her, as if he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him.

Exhibiting no willpower whatsoever, her gaze zeroed in on his mouth. Just because she’d responded to that kiss didn’t mean a damned thing. Well, she amended, except for a poorly timed reminder that she hadn’t had noteworthy sex in a while.

Now there was an area where she and Nolan had been incredibly compatible. And then some. The passion between them had always burned hot. Definite chemistry, the combustible kind. Despite the passage of time, from one little ol’ kiss, she didn’t doubt for a second that making love to him would be nothing short of pure perfection.

And damned satisfying, she silently added.

“Why are you here, Nolan?” she asked bluntly, anxious to tamp down the treacherous trail of her thoughts. “Surely you didn’t come all the way to San Francisco just to tell me our divorce isn’t legal when a letter from your attorney would have been sufficient.”

“I’ve moved back.”

Dread settled in her stomach like a lead weight. “Back?” she exclaimed, uncertain which had her more stunned—the news they were still married or that he’d returned to San Francisco.

To her dismay he nodded. “To San Francisco.”

“Why?” she blurted. Why here of all places?

“I transferred from the L.A. office.”

“California’s a big state, Nolan. Couldn’t you have transferred to San Diego or Ventura?” she asked desperately.

“I’m needed here.”

Well she sure as hell didn’t need, or want, him here. She’d worked too hard to get over him. Odds were, since they both practiced family law, they were bound to eventually stumble over each other in the courtroom, either opposing each other or perhaps even on the same side, but that made little difference. Her reaction to that stupid kiss was more than enough reason for her to want to keep her distance.

It doesn’t matter.

The reminder fell sadly short and she knew it. It didn’t matter that she was supposed to have stopped loving Nolan ages ago. Where he lived, worked, his interests, none of it was supposed to make a bit of difference to her.

It doesn’t matter.

He could move into one of the first-floor units of her building for all she cared. She wasn’t supposed to give a damn.

It doesn’t matter.

Only, it did matter. Dammit, he mattered—a helluva lot more than he should.

While she struggled to digest the fact that Nolan had actually returned to San Francisco for good, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the small white-gold key she’d seen him with earlier. She gave serious consideration to taking a flying leap over the railing and diving headfirst into the frigid ocean below. With the way her luck had turned tonight, risking her neck had to be the lesser evil.

A scoundrel’s grin curved his lips as he reached for the locket around her neck.

She swatted his hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like?”

As though he was about to turn her life even more upside down. She attempted to take a step back, but the stucco wall behind her prevented a clean getaway. Now would be an excellent time to take that hike over the planter.

Undeterred, his long fingers brushed against the slope of her breast as he lifted the small trinket. His smile turned downright devilish. “What do you say we test our luck?”

“Not even fate can have that much of a sense of humor.” No way in hell was she going on a date with Nolan. She’d drink antifreeze first.

Her breath caught. The soft click of the key unlocking the fourteen-karat miniature suitcase sealed her fate.

She should’ve taken her chances with the Pacific.

His reckless, heart-stopping grin deepened. “What are the odds?” He laughed, as if he’d known all along he held the key to her locket.

“They were supposed to be one in a few hundred.” It didn’t take a degree in rocket science for her to realize Nolan was the significant contributor Maureen had mentioned, or that she’d been sold out by one of her closest friends, even if it was for a good cause.

He gave a careless shrug, then shook the tiny numbered ticket inside the equally small suitcase loose. “Lucky me, then.”

And unlucky her.

“Shall we claim our prize?”

“Not so fast.” She snagged the ticket from his fingers. “I’ll be claiming this prize. On my own.” She gave him the hard stare she’d perfected. A lesser man would’ve bolted for the nearest exit. Nolan remained unfazed. “After the shock you’ve given me tonight, I’ve earned it.”

Desperate for distance, she shouldered past him. She wanted time to think, to assimilate and analyze all that had occurred tonight. Needed time to develop a foolproof game plan.

She needed a drink. Now.

Nolan’s big warm hands settled over her shoulders, halting her escape. “You deserve a lot more than some cheesy raffle prize.” He dragged his thumbs rhythmically over her bare shoulders. “Much more than I was capable of—then.”

She wasn’t going anywhere near that comment. Not when she had gooseflesh puckering all over her skin from his touch and her nipples had hardened into tight peaks.

“Let me go, Nolan.”

He didn’t. “I can make it up to you, Mikki.”

His warm breath fanned her ear. The heat of his body warmed her back. She closed her eyes. If only…

“If you’ll let me,” he whispered.

Her eyes flew open. Let him break her heart again? Not a chance. No way would she become one of those pathetic women who continue to make the same mistakes with the same wrong guy, over and over. They were over.

She pulled away, then shot him a scathing look over her shoulder. “You can start by filing an ex parte application. Get the court to agree to shorten the time or waive notice for a hearing so we file a motion to have our divorce recognized. Either that, or we go back to Mexico and get it right this time.”

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers again. “I doubt it will be that simple.”

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. When it came to their relationship, there never had been anything simple about it.

“You’re a good lawyer, Nolan. Make it happen.” Without waiting for a reply, she escaped through the double doors and practically jogged to the bar.

God, she needed a drink. No, she amended, sidling up to the polished length of mahogany. She didn’t need a drink, she needed to erase the memories the only way she knew how.

She signaled for the bartender, but he was busy serving other customers and didn’t see her. Maybe she should take that as a sign to put as much distance as possible between herself and temptation.

She slid onto a vacant bar stool.

Just to think, she reminded herself. She needed time to pull it together before she blew four of the toughest years of her life with a shot of Jack Daniel’s.

She toyed with the catch on her evening bag, but each scrape of her thumbnail against the gold-plated clasp only echoed the gnawing desire for a drink until she thought she’d crawl out of her skin. Her hands trembled, so she fisted them in her lap, digging her nails into her palms, but the craving refused to ebb.

One shot of Old Number Seven. Only one, she thought, imaging the first splash from the square, black-labeled bottle of Kentucky bourbon filling a shot glass. The sweet, potent aroma as she lifted the glass to her lips. The trail of liquid fire down her throat…

The numbness. The ultimate escape into nothingness.

“What can I get you?”

“Double bourbon. Straight up,” she told the bartender before her conscience could stop her. “And keep them coming.”

MIKKI SQUEEZED HER eyes shut, fearing the wrecking ball slamming against her brain would start up again if she risked opening them. The hangover from hell had arrived in full blown glory. As much as she would’ve loved to hold Nolan responsible, he hadn’t been the one to pour all those double bourbons down her throat.

Slowly she opened her eyes, remembering to shield them from the harsh glare of brilliant sunlight streaming through the row of windows in her bedroom. She attempted to ease toward the edge of the bed, but a sudden unexpected piercing pain in her in hip jarred her.

She flopped back against the pillows and let out a groan. The pounding in her head momentarily intensified. She attempted slow, even breaths until the pain subsided. When that failed, she muttered a string of curses.

What the hell had she done?

Aside from the excellent job of becoming so thoroughly wasted Rory had not only had to drive her home but had apparently had to help her up the stairs to her apartment. When Mikki screwed up, she did a good job of it. She couldn’t even be certain Rory had been the one to bring her home. Maybe it was Lauren? No, definitely Rory.

Exercising an abundance of caution, she eased herself up from the bed, then limped toward the bathroom where she stripped off her panties and an old battered Berkeley Law School T-shirt she hadn’t worn in years. Obviously, Rory’s caretaking hadn’t ended with depositing her inside her apartment, because Mikki would never have slept in a shirt Nolan had left behind unless she’d been completely blitzed out of her mind.

Oh, wait. She had been blitzed out of her mind, she thought with a hefty dose of self-loathing. Of all the stupid things she’d ever done, ordering that first drink beat them all.

Regret, disgust and shame slammed into her simultaneously. She stumbled and reached for the sink to steady herself. With one act of sheer stupidity, she’d obliterated every stride she’d made in cleaning up and staying that way. Not once in four years had she slipped—and she’d been close plenty. One hour in Nolan’s presence and look at her…she had mother of a hangover, unaccountable bruises and no one to blame but her own weak self.

Before she thought better of it, she held the T-shirt to her face and breathed in, but the tangy citrus aroma she remembered so well had long been washed away. Closing her eyes, she inhaled more deeply. Her olfactory senses didn’t require a jolt for the images to instantly flicker through her mind with haunting familiarity. The intensity in Nolan’s rich brown eyes as he made love to her… Her hands smoothing over the hard, sleek surface of his skin… Touching. Tasting. Reacquainting herself with the unforgettable contours of his body.

She and Nolan might have a serious communication problem, but that didn’t mean they didn’t speak with perfect clarity in bed. She rubbed the soft, worn fabric against her cheek and remembered. Nolan beneath her as she eased her body over his long, thick length. His hands cupping her bottom, coaxing, urging her take all of him inside her. His body thrusting upward to meet hers, filling her and driving her to the point of total mindlessness. Sexually, they’d been ravenous, completely demanding, neither willing to settle for anything less than the other’s soul.

In her mind she heard his deep-throated groans mingle amid the erotic words of encouragement he whispered to her. She imagined how he would push her to lose control and her cries as passion claimed them, leaving them spent and thoroughly sated.

Her eyes flew open and she tossed the T-shirt to the floor in disgust. How stupid was she? Apparently a whole lot more than she gave herself credit for being if she willingly wandered into the danger zone. What was next? Mimosas for breakfast?

In a fit of temper, she slammed the bathroom door, regretting the act of immaturity the instant the loud crack reverberated through her throbbing skull. In the full-length mirror, she examined the dark, ugly bruise on her hip and not the silly, useless daydreams that got her into trouble. Nolan might be back in town, but that didn’t mean she’d be inviting him back into her bed anytime soon. That much of a masochist she wasn’t.

Gingerly she pressed her fingers against the bruised flesh above her hipbone. She winced from the flash of pain. Another smaller bruise just above her left knee looked no better than the purplish-blue stain on her hip. A quick press of her fingers against the offensive spot quickly confirmed it felt as bad as it looked.

Why? she asked herself. She’d fought off cravings before. Why hadn’t she managed to control herself last night?

“Because you’re weak, that’s why.”

Because that first taste of Jack Daniel’s had been too damned good.

She took a good long look at her reflection. Disgusted with herself, she let out a low-pitched hiss of utter loathing.

She’d really done it this time. Her hair looked as if it were good for nothing more than a habitat for sewer rats. Dark smudges of mascara underscored her bloodshot eyes, doing nothing to complement the ghastly paleness of her complexion. Although the realization that she’d thrown four years of sobriety away sickened her, if all she had were a few unaccountable bruises and a hangover, she should count herself lucky. The last time she’d drunk herself into a blackout, she’d ended up in a jail cell and facing possible disbarment.