Two Rivals, One Bed, page 6
The air was full of desire. A daring excitement crackled and swirled around them. Victor held his tongue, allowing the silence, knowing Maeve would never walk away from the gauntlet he’d thrown down.
“Full match,” she finally said.
“Okay.”
“Best two out of three.”
“Yes, but each round only to three points.”
“Six.”
He looked at this watch. “It’s a workday.”
“Four.”
“Okay.”
She turned toward a set of double doors nearby. “We’ll toss a coin to see who serves first.”
“Or you can go first, no problem.”
“Oh, no. I will not have it said that you took it easy on me and aided in your own butt-whooping.”
It was Victor’s turn to laugh. “Your spunkiness is sexy.”
“Not spunkiness. Skill.”
Once on the court, the two were all business. Victor had no way of knowing that Maeve was an ace tennis player throughout high school. She was equally ignorant of his close friendships with professional tennis stars, or that while growing up he routinely played against them. That he’d been good enough to be scouted and had almost turned pro. Maeve’s serves were not as hard as Victor’s. But they were well-placed and came with an unpredictable spin. Victor eased up on his service swing a bit, but soon found himself playing all out to keep the game close. When an incredible ace helped her claim the second set, Victor became serious. His competitive nature kicked all the way in. He won the third round handily, four to two. He’d worked up not only a good sweat, but a healthy appreciation for Maeve’s court game.
“You’re a badass,” he said as they left the courts and retrieved bottles of water.
“And you’re no novice,” Maeve replied, rubbing an arm Victor imagined now sore from bearing the brunt of his hard returns. He felt a bit of remorse.
“I trained for years,” he admitted after a long drink of water. “Almost turned pro.”
She punched his arm. “No wonder you flung me like a ragdoll, had me running from one side of the court to the other with your line-dusting shots!”
“Most of which you returned, and expertly at that.” Victor’s look was one of open admiration. “Any woman other than Serena Williams wouldn’t have gotten a set off me.”
“Not Halep or Coco, or Naomi Osaka?”
Maeve began walking toward the dressing rooms. Victor fell into step beside her.
“Okay, any of those top ten women could probably kick my ass.”
Maeve’s water bottle paused midway to her mouth. “Careful, Counselor. That almost sounded like humility, something I’m sure a man as arrogant as you can’t possibly possess.”
“Not true. I’m aware of my strengths as well as my faults.”
“Name one. A fault, I mean.”
Victor stopped and, after a surreptitious look around, stepped close to her and placed his mouth to her ear.
“I can’t seem to get you off my mind.”
He pressed a light kiss to her earlobe and heard an intake of breath before being pushed away.
“That’s a fault?” she asked, her tone light even though the nipples suddenly outlined on her T-shirt were hard evidence of mutual desire.
“Right now, to be honest, it’s one hell of a problem. I very much want to get to know you better, but there’s a lawsuit in the way.”
They reached an open area with the women’s rooms on one end and the men’s rooms on the other.
“Which is why as much as I have enjoyed the evening, I think we should limit all future interactions to the courtroom, not the tennis court or this club.”
He looked pointedly at the headlights perpetrating as nipples. “Are you sure about that?”
“She looked down, hurriedly crossed her arms over her chest and straightened her spine. “Positive.”
“For now, I’ll abide by your wishes, Maeve Eddington. But after winning this case, I’m taking you out, a proper date.”
“After losing this case, you might change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“Lose, or change your mind?”
“Neither.” Victor’s answer was immediate and without compromise.
A slow smile blessed Maeve’s face, and him along with it. “We’ll see.”
“I guess we will. Next week. Judge’s chamber.”
Every part of his body wanted every part of hers. He imagined a kiss that began at her toes, traveled slowly upward and lasted all night long. He shut down the thought—quickly, forcibly. They were in public. In the close-knit community of Point du Sable. Where everyone knew each other, the windows had eyes and the walls could talk. They said their goodbyes in the hall. Victor jammed his clothes into a duffel bag and left the club without changing. Once in the car, he sent Maeve a text.
You look as beautiful hot and sweaty as you do cool and collected. Tonight, I’ll be dreaming of you.
He pressed Send, quickly, before he had time to weigh the action, or talk himself out of it. Within seconds, his vibrating cell phone signaled the arrival of her response.
Tonight your dream. Tomorrow your nightmare.
Victor laughed heartily, shaking his head as he eased out of the circular drive and drove down the picturesque tree-lined road toward the town’s center and the highway on-ramp. He found an easy-listening channel on satellite radio and bobbed a head filled with thoughts of how he could spend time with Maeve outside of the courthouse. He was usually measured, calculating, every move planned. Maeve made him want to forget all that structure, throw caution to the wind.
It was a new concept, both thrilling and terrifying. Victor was up for the ride.
Nine
Maeve sat with Regina Campbell, a dear friend from childhood whom she had seen only sparingly since being a bridesmaid in a spectacular wedding two years ago. They’d run into each other at a recent First Friday Chicago and vowed to get together before the month was out. As they studied menus at the Tasty Vegan, a new upscale restaurant owned by one of Reign’s friends, Maeve realized how long it had been since she’d had such a moment, to just relax and chill, and hang out with a friend. In addition to the Duberry case, she was overseeing other matters of the firm’s law department, including pending software patents initiated by Cayden Barker, their techie whiz, and the E-Squared cryptocurrency that Desmond had launched the year before. And, of course, there was another stress factor.
Victor Cortez. That manly mass of provocation was never far from her mind.
“Everything on this menu sounds delicious,” Regina noted, taking a sip of her Chicago Iced Tea packing a tequila punch. “Do you have any recommendations?”
“I’ve only been here once before and had the fish tacos. I don’t know what plant they’re made from, but the combination of the flavorful meat substitute, crunchy slaw and tangy sauce tastes better than real fish! Had me giving serious consideration to turning in my meat-eater card.”
“Impressive, considering how much you like meat.” Regina wriggled her eyebrows.
“Girl, shut up.”
They laughed and scanned the menu. Regina decided to try the tacos. Maeve opted for a new dish, a barbecued cauliflower steak topped with roasted vegetables and chilled mango. It came with a spicy black bean and quinoa combo. With her workout schedule interrupted and the holidays approaching, Maeve figured eating healthy was not only a good idea but necessary if she was going to shimmy into those form-fitting Thanksgiving and Christmas gathering gowns.
“I read the article on your parents,” Regina said, once the waiter had placed down a basket of seasoned bread sticks and freshened their waters. “Thirty-five years. Wow!”
“I know, can you believe it?”
“These days, if a marriage lasts thirty-five months, it’s considered success.”
“Exactly.”
“That makes Desmond how old, thirty-one or -two?”
“Thirty-two his next birthday.”
“Ooh, which makes somebody I know inching close to the big 3-0.”
Maeve reached for her wineglass of sparkling water. “Don’t remind me. I only get to be twenty-something for one more year.”
“And still single.” Maeve nodded. “Any prospects?”
“Not really.”
Before that last word was out, Victor’s seductive eyes swam into view, accompanied by the sensual words of their last text exchange.
“Ever hear from what’s-his-name?”
Regina didn’t have to describe whom she meant. Lionel the Jackal. In their almost seven years together before breaking up, two of them as a couple she thought happily engaged, Maeve had fondly referred to him as My Lover Lionel.
“Nope.”
In that one word was a whole conversation. Regina interpreted everything, as only a bestie could, and moved on. “Who’s going to be your escort for the anniversary celebration?”
“Good question.”
There were any number of men Maeve could ask to accompany her. Colleagues, old classmates, a handful of either of her brothers’ friends. Before Peyton arrived, Maeve might have even considered safe and predictable Cornelius. But rumor had it their dating had turned serious in just a few months, with her old friend hinting to soon make their status official. Maeve didn’t blame him. In fact, she approved of the idea. The love she had for Cornelius was the kind one had for a brother. It had never been and could never be anything more. If he could snag a woman as beautiful as Peyton, Maeve thought, good for him.
“What about Cornelius?” Regina asked as though reading Maeve’s mind. “You two went out back in the day.”
“Back in the day being the operative part of that statement. Our time together never went much beyond friendship. Kissing him was like kissing a relative.”
“Ew.”
“Exactly.” Maeve dipped a chunk of freshly baked bread in the restaurant’s secret combination of balsamic vinegar, olive oil and African spices. “What about you? Are you and Bryant ready to start a family yet?”
“Yes, and we’re working on it as often as we can.”
“You always were my freaky friend.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“No, it doesn’t. When it comes to romantic partners, I’ve always been conservative.”
“You’re right. Partying, casual hookups, you were never that girl. But, hey, don’t knock regular chandelier-swinging, mind-blowing sex until you’ve tried it.”
“No judgment here. I’m happy for you.”
“And not with just any man, but the one who feels made for you. Being married can be difficult but it’s worth the challenge. It’s a journey of lessons and conscious commitment. I want you to experience it, Maeve, the kind of love your parents have, the kind Bryant and I are striving for.”
“Right now my focus is the courtroom, not the bedroom. We’re in the middle of a few legal proceedings that are critically important to the company’s future.”
“Which one of those critical proceedings is going to dance with you this holiday season or keep you warm at night?”
Maeve didn’t have a comeback for that. A major eye roll was the next best thing.
“When looking at the future, don’t just focus on the company. Focus on you. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Well said, best friend. Now, can you get out of my business?”
“Yes, for the time being. Just one last thing.”
Maeve managed not to huff. Barely. “What.”
“Don’t stay so focused on making a living that you forget to make a life.”
Their food arrived and the conversation moved on, but over the next week, Regina’s words stuck with Maeve. Especially whenever she saw Victor, which for whatever reason seemed to be all the time. Twice in the judge’s chamber when their case first missed the docket, then changed again because of the court’s busy schedule. Once at the club when Victor was there having dinner with Cornelius and a group of people she didn’t know. Those times were thankfully public and brief. They also reiterated how physically attracted she was to the man. Too attracted for him to be her escort to the anniversary party. No way could she ask him. It would be neither appropriate nor wise.
But she wanted him there. She could admit that she missed him. The air seemed less vibrant without him around.
By the time Saturday night and the gala arrived, all those thoughts had been pushed aside. Maeve had asked a former classmate and longtime friend Matthias Bailey to escort her to the dance. Still, she dressed with Victor Cortez in mind. Damn him! The silky copper-colored mermaid-styled gown that had been custom designed for the occasion, with its peekaboo bodice and side split that would have given Angelina Jolie a run for her long-legged money, felt soft and sensuous against her skin, the way Victor’s hands did when he held her. The stilettos that graced her feet added confidence along with height. Completing her glammed-out look took a village that had playfully coined themselves the “Maeve Makeover Team,” but when she slid onto the buttery seats of the limousine that Matthias had arranged for their transport, Maeve felt like Cinderella on her way to the ball.
They arrived at the country club and entered a lobby awash in ball gowns, tuxedos and jewels that no doubt rivaled the queen’s collection. Yes, the one in England. Any newbie would have been awed, even intimidated by the scene. But for Maeve, these were her people, friends and peers, in the place that had been a home away from home since being the belle of her own tenth birthday ball. Having also grown up in Point du Sable, Matthias was equally comfortable. Soon, when he was pulled into a lively political conversation with a budding congressman, Maeve continued around the club’s expansive lobby, where guests were enjoying predinner cocktails and appetizers offered by uniformed staff. She laughed easily, hugged sincerely and accepted congrats on behalf of her parent’s thirty-five years of wedded bliss. Then, something happened. The room’s temperature changed. Somehow she felt—knew—that Victor was near her. She tried to convince herself such feelings were foolish. But they lingered, increased. She turned toward the restroom and a quick moment to pull herself together and there he was. Her foolish fantasy in the flesh.
“Hello, beautiful.”
“V-Victor.”
Who in the hell was this stuttering woman? Maeve had never done so a day in her life! Victor’s smile suggested he figured that as well, and that he was the reason for her discomfort. Rather than back off or leave her presence altogether so that she could breathe again, he added insult to injury by leaning toward her, planting a faint kiss on her cheek and speaking softly against her ear.
“You look absolutely decadent.”
Maeve prided herself on not taking a step back. She was not some withering wallflower and he was no god, even though she was quite certain he could play one on TV. He was a tall, strong, handsome man, like dozens of others she’d met. Okay, maybe ten. She couldn’t lie to herself. She’d never been in the presence of a man that made her feel the way Victor did. Like at this very moment she could lose all sense of decorum, pull him into a broom closet and shag him like a rabbit in heat.
“What are you doing here?”
His raise of a thick perfectly arched eyebrow added to his debonair looks and rakish charm. To look that good in a simple tuxedo should be illegal in all fifty states.
“I was invited by—”
“There you are!”
A very attractive woman, wearing a beautiful red dress that showcased her bountiful cleavage and hugged her curves before flaring into a skirt made of what looked to be all the tulle in Chicago, snaked her arm possessively through Victor’s and glued herself to his side. Maeve was initially thankful for the interruption...until her eyes settled on the woman’s face, the one with eyes now looking up dreamily at Victor as though he were that god Maeve had thought didn’t exist only seconds before.
“Come with me, handsome,” she said as though Maeve weren’t standing there. “I have some very important people I’d like you to meet.”
Victor subtly shifted his body away from the woman and reclaimed his arm. “Camela, do you know Maeve?”
Camela gave Maeve a dismissive sweep with her eyes before tossing what looked to be at least eight packs of premium Indian weave across a smooth bare shoulder touting a flower tattoo.
“Of course I know her. Hello, Maeve,” she managed, between lips tight enough to dam Niagara Falls.
“Good evening, Camela.” Maeve bit back a chuckle and offered a smile, while also making a mental note to curse out her brother Jake, Camela’s classmate and the assumed reason she’d been invited, at the first opportunity.
“Victor, let’s go.”
The shift in Victor’s mood was subtle and striking at the same time. His facial expression barely changed yet he seemed not to breathe. Clearly, this wasn’t a man used to being told what to do, nor one who took orders kindly. He took a step away from Camela and faced her directly.
“I need to speak with Maeve privately. Head on over to where your friends are. I’ll join you shortly.”
“But I want—”
“Or I can bypass dinner altogether and call it an early night.”
“No need to do that, handsome. I’ll, um, I’ll be right over there.” Camela pointed across the room to a group standing near the closed dining room doors. She squeezed his arm and blew a kiss before sauntering away. If her swaying hip show was for Victor, Camela would have been disappointed because when Maeve looked over at him, his eyes were on her.
“You might want to check your digits,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“You know...fingers, toes, moving body parts. Camela is quite the man-eater. I’ve known her to chew men up and spit them out before they even knew they were on the menu.”
He took a step toward her and reached for her hand. “I assure you that all of my body parts are accounted for and in prime working order. I’ve met the Camela types a time or two and trust me, I can handle her.”
