9½ Days. Mia Zachary
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he came across the deep split in her gown. He slid his fingers inside to touch the satiny skin beneath the silk. Her thighs parted to allow him greater access while her lips nibbled hungrily on his mouth.
She tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it free from his trousers before she drew her hands over his stomach and up to his chest. The feel of her sensual touch had his own nipples hardening in response. He moved his hand higher under the skirt of her nightgown, lifting the fabric until he could feel the edge of her panties.
He inched his fingers toward the apex of her thighs, felt the damp heat through the material as he rubbed her feminine mound. She rocked her hips back and forth over his hand while his tongue danced with hers. His erection throbbed against his zipper when her wiggling became frenzied. Seconds later, she shuddered, groaning against his shoulder as she climaxed.
Danny grinned into her hair as she tried to catch her breath. Of all the elevators in all the world, he found himself with the most intensely responsive woman he’d ever encountered. Under his shirt, her hands slid down his belly to grope for his belt buckle.
But just as she reached to unzip him, he heard Mike’s voice right above them. “Hey, L.T. I’m back.”
Startled, they jerked apart as if they’d been electrocuted. As the flashlight beam arced lower, Danny fumbled to tuck in his shirt and refasten his pants. The woman hastily adjusted the front of her nightgown and pulled the skirt part back into place.
He raised his voice to draw Mike’s attention. “How’s the guy with the chest pain?”
“The EMTs have him stabilized for transport.”
In the dim light, Danny noted that the woman’s back was toward him. Even without seeing her face, he sensed her embarrassment by the shielding curve of her posture and the low angle of her head. His whisper scarcely carried across the elevator. “Are you okay?”
She nodded but refused to look at him. Despite the lack of ventilation, he felt a distinct chill that was stunning after the heat they’d generated. He could understand it, though. They were strangers, and who knows how far things might have gone if Mike hadn’t returned when he did.
If he got lucky, however, later tonight they could finish what they’d started. Danny moved behind her, keeping his voice low and willing her to turn around. “When can I see you? Where can I find you?”
Her shoulders were hunched, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. She tilted her head and glanced up, as though wondering how close Mike was. She shook her head and didn’t speak.
“All right. Let’s get out of here and then we can talk.” Danny leaned his head back and called up to Mike. “Ready when you are, Stonewall.”
“Anytime, L.T.”
He placed his hands on the woman’s upper arms, ignoring the way she flinched as he guided her toward the front of the elevator car. “I’m going to lift you up so that Mike can catch your hands. Don’t let go of him until you’re all the way out to the floor. Okay?”
She angled her head away, but he heard her whispered acknowledgment. “Okay.”
He grasped her waist, bending his knees as she raised her arms to the light-filled opening. Flexing his thighs, he boosted her toward the ceiling. When he saw that Mike held her securely, he shifted his hands to her bottom, trying to ignore the intimate knowledge that his hands had been under that red silk gown only moments before. He gave a gentle push and waited for Mike to help her the rest of the way.
“I’ve got her, L.T.”
Danny balanced on the balls of his feet then lunged up to catch the edge of the eighth floor. Using sheer arm strength, he pulled himself to chest height before pivoting to swing his legs up as well. He got to his feet and saw Mike holding the flashlight, trying to check on the woman.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Really. I just need to go—”
“Wait a minute,” Danny protested. When she turned in his direction, his heart slammed to a stunned halt. He completely forgot whatever else he’d planned to say. The words caught in his throat as it tightened in dismay.
Gaze downcast, the woman still refused to look at him. But he didn’t need to see her eyes to know they were the golden brown color of maple syrup. Despite the gloom in the hallway, he knew that her hair had mahogany highlights and that her skin was the warm tone of caramel. He also knew he’d just made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.
Her voice sounded tight with embarrassment. “Thank you very much for helping me. I appreciate it.”
Mike started to speak. “If you’re sure…”
But she was already hurrying away down the dark corridor. Danny sensed his colleague turning to him, but his attention followed the elusive glimpse of red silk.
“Well, I see you managed to get some of her lipstick.” Mike’s voice held a note of jealous humor. Danny drew the back of his hand across his mouth and looked down to see a smear of color on his knuckles. “Did you get her name and phone number, too?”
“No, I didn’t get her number.”
“Too bad, L.T. She looked hot.”
Danny had no intention of getting the number now. And he already knew her name. Jordan Gregory.
His brother David’s girlfriend.
“KRISSY LYNN. What the hell kind of name is Krissy Lynn?”
Jordan leaned back in the conference room chair and watched her newest client, Susan Brandywine, pace the expensive wool carpeting. Her hands were jammed into the pockets of her palazzo pants, the kind Katherine Hepburn always wore in the late-night movies Jordan liked to watch.
“She’s blond and petite and just so gosh-darned eager.” Susan batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly. “And get this, she’s all of twenty-five years old. I’ve got sweaters older than this bubble-headed bimbo.”
Jordan didn’t look up from the note she jotted on a legal pad as she asked, “Aren’t you judging your replacement in the same manner you claim you’re being judged?”
Susan had been the female anchor on the WBNS nightly news team for ten years. After a messy and painful divorce, she began suffering from depression and put on some weight. At that point, she was shuffled from the prominent evening slot to a position reading the midday news.
The demotion fueled Susan’s depression, as did the comments of the news director and station manager, who suggested she lose weight, dress more femininely and grow out her “mannish” hairstyle. Then, just before her fortieth birthday, the station decided to “go with a more up-to-date look” for midday.
Susan stopped near the window overlooking the Camden Yards baseball stadium and sighed, running a strong hand through her short dark hair. “Yeah, damn it, I guess I am. But it hurts, Jordan. It really hurts.”
She made a sympathetic noise as her client continued to stare at the view. Jordan stood up and moved to the window. “I know exactly how you must feel.”
Susan eyed her up and down and scoffed. “Sure you do, honey.”
“You’re seeing me now. Not as the almost two-hundred-pound girl with bad skin and no friends I used to be.” She turned up the corners of her mouth, hoping it resembled a smile.
Susan nodded. “So as a former ‘fat girl’ yourself, you’re in the best position to defend me.”
Something inside of her twisted at the comparison, but Jordan focused on what was important. “I think we have a good chance with both the wrongful termination and the discrimination cases.”
“You know, I have a journalism degree from Columbia. I started out writing copy at a couple of newspapers. Journalism requires long hours, unbeatable dedication and street smarts as well as brain smarts.” Susan’s expression hardened.