Her Favourite Holiday Gift
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“But—”
“Colleen,” he said, weary of knocking heads already, “I’ve been in court all morning. I’ve got a full slate of work this afternoon. I’m hungry. Is that so hard for you to understand?”
She crossed her arms over her torso. “No. What’s hard to understand is why you’d invite me.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Years ago, we used to be friends.” He imbued the last word with a meaning only she’d understand.
Her face pinkened. “Years ago, like you said. Those days are long over.”
So she wanted to play it that way. “Look, as much as you hate the fact, I do know you. Either I invite you, or I miss lunch altogether because you’ll keep me standing here in the hallway arguing ridiculous points of law. I’d like to avoid that if at all possible.” He held up his free hand. “Nothing more than that.”
She studied him, seeming to search for an ulterior motive. Typical Colleen. After a moment, she tossed her sleek black hair and tried for casual. She didn’t quite pull it off. “Fine. Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s just hit The Chambers. It’s close and easy.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“We can ride togefh—”
“I said I’ll meet you there.”
Eric watched her stalk off, shoulders back, spine stiff. Astonishing how she managed to walk so straight with that monumental chip weighing down her shoulder. It had to be one hell of a heavy burden after all these years.
Not his problem.
He shook his head and started toward the parking lot, his brain reluctantly flooded with memories of a different Colleen. Sure, there’d been only one night in their history that the chip had fallen off her shoulder…a night he absolutely had to put out of his mind during this case. Sleeping with Colleen had been one hell of a beautiful mistake, one they’d never spoken about again, despite his repeated attempts shortly thereafter. Initially, he’d been bewildered by her icecold attitude, but she wouldn’t discuss it. Eventually, he just wrote the woman off as a loose cannon, and his life had been more pleasant since that decision.
That’s what he told himself at least.
But he’d never forgotten….
Would never forget.
Couldn’t.
Despite the fact she was back in his life, he aimed to keep everything strictly professional. Sadly, when it came to Colleen Delaney, that was the only choice she’d given him.
Of all the attorneys in Chicago, why Eric Nelson?
Stupid Murphy’s Law.
Colleen sat in her Audi A6 for several minutes trying to still her nerves, regain her composure. If any guy could break her resolve to stay smart, sane and selectively celibate, that guy was Eric. One look at him in that courtroom—broad-shouldered and confident in his charcoal-gray suit, dark blond hair sexily uncooperative as usual—and Colossal Mistake Night flooded back into her body with a vengeance. The sex had been as explosive and exciting as their debates. It had nearly knocked her off her goal path. Or…it could’ve, had she not freaked out and gone completely cold on the guy, purely by necessity. The whole thing had shaken her to the core, and she hadn’t known any other way to handle it.
She’d run scared then, and she’d run scared today.
Thank goodness, Eric had given up the pursuit both times. And while their estrangement hurt, it also bolstered her resolve to be as diametrically opposed as possible to her mother’s opinion of what womanhood entailed. That meant no marriage. Possibly no man, which was fine.
Fine, fine, fine.
God, he’d looked fine. She let her eyes drift closed.
He’d been a good-looking guy in law school, but he’d matured into an incredible man with incredible presence. He filled up the space around him, claimed it, sucked the air from the lungs of those nearby. And with a calmness that both drew her in and infuriated her. He still made her tummy flop and her heart flutter, still made her want to argue.
Still made her want to get naked and let everything go.
What a mess.
Colleen smacked the heel of her hand against the leather steering wheel. Unsure what else to do, she fished her cell phone out of her purse and sent a text message to her best friend, Megan, a massage therapist. Megs always talked her down from the various ledges of her life when no one else could. Not that she gave anyone else the chance, but still. Megs was centered, nonjudgmental, soothing. Real.
A lot like Eric Nelson, come to think of it.
No. No. No.
Colleen couldn’t risk viewing him that way. It only made things worse.
She just needed to speak with Megan, who knew everything about her and, shockingly, loved her anyway. Go figure. Megan was her safety zone, the one person she could tell absolutely anything. On the other hand, she didn’t plan to tell Eric Nelson anything about herself or her life. Ever. She’d gotten too close to that flame once before, and the burn still licked up inside her in moments of weakness.
She quickly typed:
Opposing counsel? Eric Nelson. From law school. THE GUY. Kill me now.
She hit Send and waited. Moments later, her phone rang.
“Hi, sweetie,” Megan said, in her just-finished-yoga-and-meditation voice. “You okay?”
Colleen bit her lip and blinked into the cold, wintery brightness. Dirty snow from the last storm clung to the curbs, but the sky gleamed a bright whitish gray. “I don’t know. I just…Why him? Of all people? This case is so important, Megs. I can’t let our past get in the way of winning.”
Megan laughed softly. “Do you ever let anything get in the way of winning?”
Colleen cracked a reluctant smile. “Good point. But it’s Eric.”
“Yes, it is,” Megan said softly.
“And we’re meeting for lunch. Now. Ostensibly to discuss the case.”
“Let it go. It’s just lunch with another professional.”
Colleen huffed. “Yeah, a professional I let my guard down with. And had wild jungle sex with.” Life-altering, crushingly intimate, dangerous jungle sex. “Oh, God,” she groaned, squeezing her forehead with her free hand. Heat and something more visceral swirled through her body. An ache. A primal yearning. “I thought I could handle this, but then I saw him and—”
“You can handle it, sweetie. It was a one-night stand back in school. It happens.”
“Not to me.”
“Well, it did,” Megan said, as if it were no biggie. “And nothing ever came of it, so release it.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It can be. You’re an amazing attorney, Colleen, and you’re going to win this case. Take some deep breaths—you remember the breathing techniques I taught you?”
Oops, busted. “Yes. Definitely.” Too enthusiastic.
“Are you practicing them daily?”
She considered fibbing. Why bother; Megan would know. “Not exactly…daily.”
“Ever?”
“Well, I do breathe every day, if that counts.”
Megan laughed. “Not the same. How far do you have to drive to the lunch spot?”
“About a mile.”
“Okay, the whole way there, breathe deeply and slowly, drawing air clear to the bottom of your lungs. Center yourself. Then go have lunch, focus on the case that’s going to make your career, and forget about one meaningless night of sex.”
That was the problem. As much as Colleen tried to claim differently, it hadn’t been meaningless. It had been beautiful and innocent and right. She still remembered the tears trickling from her eyes down the sides of her face to her ears after her first climax. Not because it had been bad, but because Eric made her feel safe in a way no one ever had before. Colleen’s belly tightened at the memory. “One night of mind-blowing sex,” she said, trying to focus on the physical rather than the emotional.
“Not so easy to forget then, huh?”
She bit her lip, feeling unsure. Unsure and hating herself for it. That was so her mother’s style. He was just a man. A man who hated her—she’d made sure of that after the fact. “I have to.”
“Then you will.”
Colleen’s throat closed. She wished she could be more like Megan, but they were cut from different bolts of cloth. She’d accepted that long ago. “Why do you believe in me more than I believe in myself?”
“That’s what best friends do. Now, breathe. And call me tonight and tell me all about it.”
“Okay.”
“And come in for a massage soon.”
“I will.”
“So…how does he look?”
“Megan! I can’t believe you’d ask me that in my time of stress,” Colleen said, but she couldn’t help laughing.
“Hey, you can’t blame me. He’s sort of legendary in the life and times of Colleen Delaney.”
“It was one night.” Keep telling yourself that.
“Yeah. I know. Of mind-blowing jungle sex. You don’t hear that phrase every day. So? How does the man look?”
A pause ensued.
“Amazing,” Colleen said ruefully, wishing he was paunchy and balding, with a big gin blossom nose, like the partners at her firm. That would make it so much easier not to feel. She couldn’t risk feeling. “He looks better than he did during school. Which totally sucks, I might add.”
“Well, don’t think about it. Try not to look at him.”
“Right. Helpful. Should I blur my eyes?”
Megan laughed softly again. “It’s all going to be fine in the end.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Now, go to lunch and do your thing.” A smooch sound carried over the line.
“What’s my thing, though? Help!”
Megan cleared her throat. “You do realize this is what you’ve always done, right?”
“Huh?”
“Freak out about Eric Nelson, then call me?”
“I’m not freaking out, Megs. Freaking out is what teenagers do. I’m just—”
“Go to lunch,” Megan said, laughing.
For the life of her, Colleen couldn’t find a single thing funny with this nightmare….
Chapter Three
“You do realize this is what you’ve always done, right?”
“Huh?”
Jack laughed as though he hadn’t a care. “Freak out about Colleen Delaney, then call me.”
Eric shook his head as he navigated a turn on the icy Chicago streets. “I’m not freaking out, Jack. Freaking out is what fifteen-year-old boys do at the first glimpse of bikini-clad cleavage on the Navy Pier every spring.”
“Case? Rested.”
“The woman gets under my skin, that’s all.”
“Interesting,” Jack mused.
“Not that kind of under my skin,” Eric lied, pulling into an empty curbside spot near The Chambers, a popular eatery with legal types and others who worked at the courthouse. He cut his engine. “I spoke to her for all of five minutes and I’m sure my blood pressure skyrocketed.” He wouldn’t tell his old friend exactly why. “She’s argumentative. Prickly. Annoying.”
“Which you hate.” Jack’s statement didn’t sound convincing.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Is she still totally hot?” Jack asked, a smile threaded through his words.
Eric closed his eyes for a moment. Strength. He needed strength and lots of it. Yes, Colleen Delaney had never been hotter, but that didn’t help the situation. “Never mind. I need to go. The tables get snatched up this time of day.”
“You and Colleen have a nice lunch,” Jack drawled. “Give her a kiss from me.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing that from the man her client’s suing,” Eric said in a droll tone, before hanging up, more exasperated than when he’d called his old pal. Jack seemed determined to paint his relationship with Colleen in rosy tones, and Eric couldn’t put himself into that position again. Official verdict: love and marriage had warped Hanson’s brain. That’s the only explanation Eric could come up with.
A welcoming warmth enveloped him as he entered The Chambers. He inhaled the familiar aromas of coffee and grilled burgers and hot apple pie, and his mouth watered. Midday service was in full, bustling swing. He brushed snowflakes from the shoulders of his wool overcoat, stamped his feet on the mat.
“Just one?” asked the hostess, who’d swirled up in mid-busy, her movements compact and efficient. “Wanna sit at the counter?”
He smiled. “Actually, I’m meeting someone. Do you have a table? Preferably someplace quiet.”
“We don’t get much quiet at lunchtime as you know, but…” The petite blonde tapped her bottom lip with her index finger and scanned the dining room, which was filled with the tink-tink of fork against plate and a healthy serving of boisterous legal debate punctuated by laughter and movement. Stark contrast to the snow-quieted city outside the large windows. Eric was convinced that snow was God’s way of telling the human race to shut up and simply be.
A group of lawyers Eric vaguely recognized but couldn’t name stood up from a table in the back corner and began donning overcoats, gloves and wool scarves. The hostess turned back, her thumb aimed over her shoulder at the group of men. “I can have that table bussed for you if you don’t mind waiting a couple of minutes.”
“That’s fine. She hasn’t arrived yet anyway.”
“Great.” The hostess gave him a pert grin. “It’ll be clean and ready when your girlfriend gets here.”
Eric opened his mouth to correct the young woman’s misconception—why, he didn’t know—but she’d left as quickly and competently as she’d arrived.
Had the whole world gone soft on him?
Could a man and a woman not share a business meal without people thinking it was something more?
Then again, did it matter?
The ding of the entry bell announced another lunchtime arrival. Eric glanced over his shoulder just as the swoosh of the door brought in a gust of cold along with Colleen, her alabaster cheeks cottoncandy pink from the weather, raven hair flecked with fat, white snowflakes.
Their eyes met.
His heart stuttered.
She dropped her gaze.
He took a slow breath and resisted the urge to wick away the snowflake that had landed, shimmering and perfect, on her left cheekbone. He could make out the unique design of it, and against the backdrop of Colleen’s face, the effect staggered him. Swallowing past this unexpected, unwanted, unnerving visceral pull toward her, he said, “They’re cleaning a table.”
“Fine,” she said, unknotting a cornflower-blue cashmere scarf that matched her eyes and shrugging out of her tailored gray tweed coat. As she stuffed the scarf inside one coat sleeve, she added, “Parking’s a real joy around here,” in a wry tone.
“Just like always,” Eric said, utterly distracted by the snowflake melting on her perfect cheek. “Did you have to walk far?”
Her gaze, wary as ever, met his for one quick moment before darting away. She draped her coat over one arm and shrugged her handbag higher on her shoulder. “It wasn’t a problem.” Fully melted, the former snowflake trickled down her cheek like a teardrop. She brushed the moisture away, unaware of his fixation on it. “How about you?”
“What?” He pulled himself back into the conversation, if you could label their lame, superficial exchange as such. “Oh. No. I’m right out front.”
“Still have that legendary Nelson parking karma then.”
“Something like that,” he said, surprised that she’d remembered. For some reason, whenever he envisioned the perfect parking spot, it always appeared for him. It’d been that way since he’d gotten his license at sixteen, and a source of great envy and many conversations among his law-school classmates years ago.
But whatever. This small talk was the worst.
He’d never been a pro at it, and never with a woman like Colleen, who threw him so totally offkilter. He wanted to ask what happened between them. Wanted to know if their single night together had been as life-affirming for her.
He wanted to touch her.
None of that was going to happen, though, and they had to converse. He cleared his throat. “Do you eat here often?” Had he seriously just asked that? He resisted the urge to cringe. That ranked high on the dumbest questions ever asked list. Maybe he was just like those cleavage-obsessed teenage boys at the Navy Pier.
“Not really,” she said, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. “I live nearby.”
He nodded, unsure what to say about that. He lived nearby, too, but he ate here at least four times a week. Was it a male versus female thing, or was that sexist? He wondered if cooking was a hobby and she preferred to eat at home, or if she packed a lunch. He wondered how she lived her life. He wondered, simply wondered, about Colleen Delaney.
Clearly, she didn’t have much to add, and he didn’t know where to go in the conversation, now that they’d skipped from point uncomfortable to point awkward. Did he really want to take another leap to point excruciating? They waited, shoulder to shoulder, in pregnant silence until the elfin blonde bopped up and led them to their corner booth.
Safely behind menus on opposite sides of the table, Eric breathed more easily. He glanced up at Colleen. “How’s your mother?”
Colleen blinked, as if startled by the intimacy of the question or the fact that he’d give a rip in the first place. Something. “My mother?”
“Yeah. You know, she’s that woman who gave birth to you back in the day?”
Colleen ignored his quip. “She’s fine. Well, getting better finally.”
“Was she ill?” He set his menu aside, knowing he’d order the French Dip, like always. Perusing the menu at The Chambers was purely habit.
Colleen shook her head. “Not sick, really. She had a knee replacement. Injured it trying to surf with her last boyfriend,” she added, her tone acidic.
“That’s awesome.”
“If you say so. I moved her into my place to recover, and now we’re apparently permanent roommates.”
“Wow.” He thought about any member of his family moving into his serene, lovingly restored greystone Victorian, and one word came to mind—hives. “How’s that working out for you?”
Eyebrows raised, Colleen set her menu on the edge of the table as well. “I’m not sure. She drives me crazy half the time, rearranging my kitchen utensils, putting my clean laundry away in spots where I can’t find it, nagging me about working too hard.” She hiked one shoulder, and the tenor of her voice changed. “The other half, it’s nice to have her there, I suppose.”
“Welcome to the definition of family.”
A moment of silence descended. Colleen tugged at her cuffs, uncrossed and recrossed her legs, cleared her throat. Finally, she asked, “And your family?”
“Pretty much the same as the last time we talked.” Which had been…wow…a long time ago. “Mom and Dad still live out in Schaumburg and expect us all there promptly at six for Friday-night dinner, no excuses.”
She spared him a half-smirk. “Your least favorite night of the week still?”
He tilted his head to the side. “You remembered.”
Ignoring that, she asked, “And your brothers?”
“My youngest brother, Brian, settled down not too far from them. The other three are here in Chicago. Working, one-upping each other at every turn, the annoying norm.” He often wondered how he’d grown up to be so different from his ultracompetitive family. They could—and did—debate about everything from gold values to golf to global warming, with the single-minded goal of winning, no matter what. And when he didn’t want to debate, which was often? They goaded him. Like rabid dogs.
“Married?”
Eric assumed Colleen wasn’t asking about him. “Only Brian. He works with my dad at the store.”
“A sporting-goods store, right?”
“Yep.” He formed two L shapes with his hands and thumbs, as if framing the sign that had hung on the main drag in Schaumburg since he could remember. “Nelson Sports and Hunting. Still running strong.”
“Good for your dad.”
He watched Colleen tilt her head to the left, which always meant she was thinking, calculating.
“Now, wait. Isn’t Brian pretty young?”
“The ‘oops’ brother?” Eric nodded. “Yes, twentyone. And Melody—that’s Brian’s wife—is only twenty. She works as a receptionist at a small law firm in the city and she runs some idiotic gossip Web site on the side. Typical twenty-year-old.” He reconsidered his judgmental comment at the slight shocked widening of Colleen’s blue eyes. “I could’ve phrased that better. The idiotic site will be a good source of income, I guess, when the baby comes. Oh, they’re expecting, Brian and Melody. My mother’s losing her mind with happiness. A baby. Extended family. New Nelson generation and all that.”
“That’s…nice.”
“Yeah, all I can think of is Brian becoming a father the same year he’s legal to drink. Crazy.”
“That is…wow.” She sat back. “They’re young. Are they ready for parenthood?”
“Do they have a choice at this point?”
“True.”
The conversation felt so casual, it lulled Eric into a sense of normalcy. “It’s good to see you. You look great, Colleen. Really.”
Her eyes hardened and the thin line of connection between them snapped like a dried-out rubber band. “We need to talk about the case.”
Duly noted. No compliments. She never had been the kind of woman who liked to be admired for her considerable beauty, but come on. It wasn’t like a guy didn’t notice. He’d known about her pet peeve, of course, but what else did you say when you saw someone for the first time in years? So she looked great. Shoot him for pointing it out.
Just then, the harried waiter approached, plunked two glasses of water on the table. “Sorry for the wait,” he said, slightly out of breath. “What can I get for you?”
They placed their orders. Once the waiter had bustled off, Colleen seemed to have regained some of her flash and fire. “Honestly, how can you stand by and let Robby Axelrod work on another TakaHanson project?”
Eric took his time. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the brown leather banquette. “How much do you know about Ned Jones?”
“What kind of question is that?” she rasped, color rising to angry spots on her cheeks. “He’s my client.”
“Right. Aware of that. And how much do you know about him?” The calm thing was getting easier by the moment.
Her lips flattened into a grim line. “I know he was unfairly, unethically terminated because he had dirt on your client.”
“If that’s all you know, you need to dig deeper.”
Her knuckles, wound together on the tabletop, whitened, and she went deadly still. “Are you honestly sitting here telling me how to do my job?”
He counted to ten silently. Why did everything with Colleen devolve into a fight? He started to remember why they were better apart, but strangely, he didn’t want to fall back into that pattern. “I’m trying to do you a favor, from one old friend to another.”
“My client—”
“Is not the bad guy,” Eric said gently. That snagged her attention. He waited until she’d closed her mouth, an indication she was listening. “At least, I don’t think he’s the brains behind anything. Gut feeling.”
“The man doesn’t have the brains to concoct a plot.”
Ah, so she did know a bit more about her client than she’d initially claimed. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think he’s the pawn in a much bigger, uglier game.”
Confusion crinkled Colleen’s brow. She leaned in. “What exactly are you talking about, Eric?”
Eric wrapped his hands around the warm coffee mug the waiter had unobtrusively set before him as they spoke. “I don’t know. I’m not sure yet, but this whole thing stinks. You may simply want to win, which I can understand. But I want to do the right thing.”
“Of course.”
Eric gut-checked sharing this information, and felt fine with it. He blew out a breath.
“Are you familiar with a real-estate tycoon by the name of Drake Thatcher?”
She spread her arms. “Should I be?”
He huffed. “Yes. You should. He’s Taka-Hanson’s biggest competitor, dirty as Tony Soprano. He’ll do anything to take down my clients.” He paused, scrutinizing her. “Up to and including paying your client to toss out false accusations.”