Page 20 of Finding Mr. July

“Exactly. But anyway, Chris and I were working a case, and I have to be deliberately vague about all the specifics here, but he bungled some paperwork that made us look like amateurs and blamed the whole thing on me. When I went to tell my boss, Chris had already whispered lies in his ear, and I lost it.”

Jonathan frowns. “What do you mean ‘lost it’?”

I press my lips together and hesitate. “I threw a stapler at him across the office.”

A surprised huff escapes Jonathan. “You did not.”

“Unfortunately, I missed, and instead the stapler knocked over a very expensive glass bust of Remy Romer Senior, shattering it—and my legal career—in a thousand pieces.”

“No.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Oh, so that’s what he meant about priceless art?”

I nod. “I was given the choice to pay for the damage and resign or have charges pressed, so… here we are. Turns out you’re not the only one who’s left scandal in their wake.”

“Damn.” Jonathan’s eyes are wide. “And here I thought you were this flawless professional. You just don’t strike me as the stapler-throwing kind.”

“Push the right buttons enough times…”

“But why not go to a different firm? Why GCL?”

I sigh. If I had a quarter for every time someone’s asked me that.

“Lawyers are the biggest gossips. There’s not a firm this side of the Cascades that hasn’t heard about my ‘vicious attack.’” I roll my eyes.

“Plus, I can’t exactly use Heckles and Romer as a reference, can I?

It was time for a change anyway. Like I said, I’d already started questioning some things.

I got into law to make a difference. The actual work gradually felt more and more like the opposite.

So when Rachel told me about the internship… ”

“Another thing we have in common. Saved by a friend.” Jonathan shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Yup. She squared things with Manny about my lack of references, and since GCL seemed respectable and matched my values, not to mention it came with a possibility of relocating as far away from the rumor mill as possible…” I flip my palms up.

“Here you are.”

“Here I am.” I pick up another slice of pizza and nudge it in my ex’s direction. “And there he is. Still in bed with the devil and, if I was to guess, yet another one of the paralegals.”

Jonathan finishes his plate of chèvre-topped roasted beets, regarding me with that enigmatic expression of his. “Want to make him jealous?” he asks, gesturing to the waitress for a refill of our drinks.

He says it so casually that, at first, I think I mishear him.

But I’d recognize that drawly cadence of his voice anywhere.

A while back, in a different bar, he used it to ask me if I wanted to go upstairs.

His words may have been somewhat slurred that time, but tonight they are well-articulated by anyone’s standards. Still, I need to be sure.

“You know it’s pretty frustrating not being able to tell if what you say and what you mean are the same things,” I say. “You were doing it in the woods earlier, too, insinuating you wanted me to have missed you when you were out yesterday.”

“If it helps, I always mean what I say. I did like the idea of you looking for me when I wasn’t there.”

Oh. “Why?”

“Why?” he repeats. “Because I’d look for you if you weren’t in the office. Because as much as I wanted out of this project, I’m not too proud to say it’s brought a welcome change. And because… well, I like you. Even more after what you told me tonight.”

My breathing hitches at his declaration. I swallow with a gulp, mesmerized by his charged attention. “I like you, too,” I finally say. “But—”

“Nuh-uh.” His gaze grows more intense. “We don’t have to figure everything out right this minute. Have a bit of fun. Do you want to make that loser jealous?”

I really do, especially if that means what I think it means. I nod.

Without hesitating, Jonathan reaches across the table, letting his fingertips push against mine until, joint by joint, our hands meet and our fingers braid together. His palm is warm and dry, and as his thumb strokes the base of mine, my nipples pucker against the lace of my bra.

It makes me braver, so I lean forward and ask, “Now what?”

A devilish glint enters his eyes. “Is he looking?”

I glance Chris’s way. “No.” But just then, he does, and he raises his glass to me when he sees he has my attention. “Oh wait. Quick, come over here.” I tug my hand free and scoot in to give Jonathan room on the seat next to me.

He doesn’t hesitate. He even makes it look natural, shrugging out of his jacket ( the jacket) and draping it across his old seat before sliding in next to me.

The moment the warmth radiating off Jonathan seeps through my clothes, I forget that we’re doing this for show.

We’re thigh to thigh, hip to hip, and then he reclaims my hand in one suave move, bringing it to his lips.

The damp heat of his breath against my skin makes my toes curl.

I want it against my neck again, against my lips.

I’m not a PDA sort of person, but I almost don’t care that there are people around.

Almost. No matter how much my body craves getting even closer to him, decorum wins out.

“Hey, pretend to whisper something in my ear,” I murmur.

Jonathan glances Chris’s way, flashes me a smirk that says we’ve been noticed, and then he reaches up and pushes my hair back.

His touch lingers against the shell of my ear, tracing it down to the lobe where he gives the smallest tug at my lightning bolt earring.

I shiver, the sensation rippling down my spine to a central pulse point that thrums with a need for relief.

I squeeze my thighs together, but that accomplishes nothing but a magnification of the emptiness inside.

Jonathan lets go of the earring and leans in slowly until his lips are almost at my jaw.

“I may not remember everything,” he whispers, “but I do remember your skin tasting of coconut and your tongue of lime. And every time I’ve seen you since, I’ve wondered what other flavors I missed out on because we were too drunk off that fucking tequila.”

The curse is a jolt to my senses that makes my head slump and my eyelids fall closed. I register that he retreats a fraction, but other than that, I’m absorbed by the sparkling whirlpool he’s set off inside me and the knowledge that I’m completely unprepared for this. For him.

When I finally meet his gaze again, he tightens his grip on my hand and cocks his head, a hint of danger beneath those dark brows. “How’s that for pretend?”

“Highly convincing,” I manage. “Almost like it wasn’t pretend at all.”

The cheery waitress picks that moment to sidle up to us to ask if we’re interested in dessert. “The brownie bar is a favorite, as is the coconut lime pie.”

Jonathan gives a short laugh next to me and presses his thigh to mine. “I bet. I was just saying how much I enjoy those particular flavors.” He turns to me. “What do you think?”

I think I’m thrilled I’m not the only one with vivid memories from that night. I think I’m so horny that one more food reference might make me combust. And I also think I want to get out of here. “I’m good,” I say. “Just the check, please.”

I note absently that Chris and his date are gone when we make our way outside into the cool evening.

Jonathan is still holding my hand, but we’re not talking.

It’s as if going from the din of the restaurant to the hushed expanse of clear night air requires more caution.

Still, the energy flowing through our grip has me on edge. I shouldn’t want more, but I do.

I stop beneath a tree that we’ve meandered toward, tugging on his hand to spin him to me.

The streetlights streak his dark hair with gold but leave shadows that hide what he’s thinking.

I reach for his jaw as if that will tell me.

He covers my hand with his, stepping into my space.

His other hand goes to my waist and snakes under my jacket and around to my back, pressing me to him.

I’ve dreamed of this feeling, about the unyielding expanse of his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing, and his scent engulfing me.

More than once, I’ve woken up from a dream at night just short of ecstasy with these exact sensations drifting away like a spectral fog. But now here he is.

“I don’t remember being nervous last time,” he murmurs next to my temple. “But I like this better.”

“We’re sober. Ish. Do you think I still taste the same?”

He makes a gruff sound in his throat at my question and draws his head back. “Only one way to find out.”

I haven’t told him that I remember the sweet spice on his lips from that night, too, but one soft brush of his mouth against mine and I’m like a poor, shipwrecked soul offered food for the first time in weeks.

I open for the soft stroke of his tongue and meet it with mine.

His lips are plump and satiny, contrasted by the rasp of the surrounding stubble, and I lose myself in the sensation.

Hunger builds as he draws his teeth against my lower lip, and I allow my hands to roam up his arms and into his hair, settling at his nape.

He steadies me with a firm grip on my ribs, his thumbs resting below the cups of my bra.

I want him to slide them up and under. Free me.

I want his mouth on my bare skin, and mine on his.

As he kisses a hot trail along my jaw and down my throat, I grasp his jacket and clamber closer. But standing upright like this, I can’t get enough leverage to satisfy the throbbing need inside me. Something akin to a sob escapes my throat.

“Get a room you two,” a voice says, passing us. “Jeez.”

We finally come apart, both breathing hard.

“Fuck,” Jonathan says. “I almost forgot where we were.”

I touch two fingers to my swollen lips and nod. “Me too.” The couple that passed us are out of earshot now. I tip my head their way. “Maybe they were onto something?” I say, hope unabashedly tinging my voice. When Jonathan doesn’t immediately agree, I add, “Or you know, not. It’s whatever.”

He takes my hand again, squeezing it tight. “It’s not whatever.” After a harsh exhale, he tilts his head back.

I know I’m not reading too much into this—no one fakes a kiss like that—yet something’s going on. “But?”

I swear his heart jumps beneath my touch.

“Oh God, you’re so…” His mouth slants over mine again like he’ll perish without one more morsel.

Long, lush strokes of his tongue lay siege to me, leaving me dizzy.

But then he retreats, apologizing. “I shouldn’t have.

I… Look, this is kind of complicated right?

For several reasons. I don’t want you to do something that you’ll regret tomorrow. ”

I start shaking my head but the movement falters. He’s right. What am I thinking? I have no business doing this. Not when stopping feels this difficult. I hold his gaze. Dig deep for willpower.

“To be clear, it’s not what I want,” he says. “But it’s what’s smart, and you know it.”

I nod. Disappointment floods my system, inviting the night chill in to settle. Damn. I sigh. “So maybe you’ll walk me to my car and we’ll leave it at that?”

“I’ll still see you tomorrow for the puppy shoot.”

I suck in a deep gulp of cold air and force myself to put a few feet between us. Better do it before I change my mind. Tomorrow’s Holly had better be more grateful for this decision than the current version of me.

I’m parked around the corner, so it doesn’t take us long to get there. He opens the door for me. I get in. He watches me leave.

Driving home is like leaving a dream behind. I know it’s real, though. All I have to do is lick my lips to know he’s been there. Pepper and cabernet.

I’ve just pulled into the driveway and turned off the car when my phone dings with a message. Jonathan has sent me a text. As I read it, warmth blooms from my belly to my face.

So what do you think? he asks. Still swearing off dating?