Sweetest Kisses: A Single Kiss Part 19

Trent yanked at the knot of his tie, trying to see past his client's rage to the legal issues. Until the child was born, paternity was a coin toss, for one thing.

"Did you pay Theresa for her testimony?" Trent asked. "I want the truth, because the woman will be under oath once she's on the stand, and opposing counsel ought to ask."

"I did not."

"Thank G.o.d for that. In some ways, this makes my plans for the afternoon all that much more sensible." He outlined his intentions, couching the absence of an opening argument as if it were some clever ploy, when in fact, Trent often waived argument simply to save time and keep opposing counsel guessing.

Trent made it through cross-examination of Husband's last witnesses, drove straight back to the office, and picked up a wad of message slips when he sailed past the receptionist. He didn't let himself start sorting through the messages, didn't even stop at his own office, but rather, went directly to knock on Hannah's partially open door.

He got no response, so he peeked into her office. No Hannah, though an Act of G.o.d had apparently come through on hundred-mile-per-hour winds. Law books were scattered everywhere, fifteen feet of tape flowed from the calculator on her desk and cascaded onto the floor. Pink sticky notes were plastered to yellow legal pages, and message slips were sprinkled throughout.

The Cat in the Hat could not have made a finer mess. Three third-year law students studying for finals for a straight week could not have created such fuss and bother. Four hyperactive gorillas on crack with a law library between them could not- He had been truly derelict, but where was his budding litigator?

Trent needed to dump his briefcase and jacket before he went in search of her, and traced a path to his own door, which was closed. When he was at court, that wasn't unusual. The a.s.sociates would go in and help themselves to what they needed just the same.

He let himself into his office, closed the door, and loosened his infernal tie, but didn't get it entirely off.

Hannah Stark lay on his sofa, flat on her back, one arm flung over her head, lips slightly parted as she slept. A surprisingly long swatch of brunette hair wound down from her shoulder toward the carpet.

Good old barbarian l.u.s.t warred with guilt and something else-protectiveness? Tenderness? She was pale, she had purple shadows under her eyes, and a pink sticky note had attached itself to the back of the hand that had drifted to the floor. An afghan was draped over her legs, and her shoes were off.

Trent put his briefcase down and hung up his coat and jacket. Still, she didn't stir.

He'd done this to her-he and his merry band of deadbeat dads.

He went to the kitchen and fixed her a cup of Earl Grey, stealing a sip on the way back to his office. When he'd again closed his office door, he didn't pause to consider his actions, didn't do a cost-benefit a.n.a.lysis, didn't consult company policy or weigh the pros and cons.

He settled at her hip on the sofa and waited a moment to see if she roused. She sighed and brought her hand down from above her head, but didn't waken.

Sleeping Beauty was out cold, and he was at least partly responsible. He slipped his arms around her, gently, gently, and kissed the princess in his office awake.

Hannah was finally warm, though her limbs had turned to lead, and as if some evil spell held her in thrall, she couldn't get her eyes open. Something smelled good, like sandalwood and shampoo, and something tasted like bergamot.

"You're awake."

Trent Knightley loomed over her as she lay on his sofa. She tried to move, but he was perched at her hip, trapping her under the afghan.

"You kissed me awake, and you're my boss." Both facts made her happy. Trent had kissed her before, but then he'd made sure she'd had a chance to opt out.

"Two for two, though I seem to have misplaced my supervisory responsibilities."

"Maybe the kissing is more important." More special. She winnowed a hand through his hair, the silky warmth of it soothing her. Trent wasn't wearing a tie, meaning Hannah could also touch the pulse that beat at the base of his throat. She urged him forward until he folded down over her, his arms settling around her.

"Are you angry with me, Hannah?"

"I always kiss and cuddle the guys I'm peeved at," she said, stroking his hair. I've missed you, I've missed you. "I took it out on the shortbread stash. Mac said something about partner cookies."

"You're disappointed then," Trent said, heaving out a sigh that made his chest move against hers. "I'm out of practice, if you want the sad truth. Work with me a bit, Stark, and the next kiss will do more than just wake you up."

He sounded determined on that.

"You're laughing," he said, snuggling in closer. "I can feel it. Disappointed, and now laughing at a man's first attempt to play handsome prince in I don't know how many years. Where is your respect?"

"Where is my boss?" She purposely did not take the bait about his kiss, which hadn't been disappointing in the least.

"That fool." Trent sighed again, and Hannah suspected he did it to feel her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest. "I am so sorry, because apparently this week has gone for you exactly as I didn't want it to. You've been abandoned with your first docket, with n.o.body to help."

To have this discussion while they embraced was cozy and somehow easy.

Also very odd.

"I a.s.sume you're here now to dispense rea.s.surances with your apologies?" Hannah began to work at the tension at the base of his skull, kneading with her fingers.

"Apologies all around. Every night this week, I've gone home, done my ch.o.r.es, and impersonated Wonder Dad, and I've thought after I tuck Merle in: I'd better call Stark, see how she's holding up."

"I didn't get your calls."

"I didn't want to hover," he said, nuzzling her neck, which might be a prevarication or an attempt to distract her-or tickle her. "The phones work both ways, you know. You could have called, strictly to yell at me."

Most of Hannah's adolescence had been spent in places were her only phone access was the communal phone on the wall in the hallway. The phone as a source of comfort had never occurred to her.

"Would that have made your trial settle?" she asked.

"It would not."

"Then I'm keeping my powder dry." Let him be the one to stare at his phone, wishing, hoping, and praying it would ring.

"What you're doing to my neck will have my back leg twitching here directly, Stark."

"You've done the same for me, but, Trent?"

"You remembered my name, that's encouraging."

"I really am scared."

"We'll take it slowly," he said, and she knew he was deliberately misunderstanding again-sort of. "As slowly as you need to."

Before she could smack him or tug on his hair, he was kissing her again, a gentle, sweet tease of his lips over hers, side to side, before he settled in and got serious.

He tasted faintly of bergamot as he cupped her head with his hand, threaded his fingers through her hair, and seamed her lips with his tongue.

Ah, such heat, and such skill. In one single kiss, Trent caressed Hannah's mouth with his, coaxed and tasted and made her feel dizzy, while she knew she was solidly supported by the couch and by his palm cradling her head.

"Enough." She managed to pull away half an inch to get out one word, but it stopped him, as she'd known it would.

"You weren't exactly scampering away," he said, resting his cheek on her forehead. "That wasn't nearly enough, but I can appreciate the value of a little antic.i.p.ation. A little."

"There's two hundred pounds of male on top of me, sounding the mating call for all he's worth. How am I supposed to scamper anywhere?" Not that she wanted to.

"I weigh a little more than that." He kissed her forehead and nuzzled her ear.

"Because your ego weighs so much."

"When you kiss me like that, my ego swells, it becomes engorged-"

Hannah stopped him with her fingers over his lips. "It really has been a while for you, Trent, hasn't it?"

"No," he said, moving away enough to frown down at her. He stroked her hair off her forehead while that single word registered in Hannah's brain: No, it hadn't been a while?

"It hasn't been a while. It has been forever. You make me-well, it's a novel experience, sounding the mating call with you."

"To me, not with me," she said, missing the feel of him over her. "None of this is preparing my cases for tomorrow's docket."

Trent dropped his forehead to hers. "Deliver me from single-minded women who aren't focused on the same thing I am. Don't tell James you were able to think of child support cases while I was pitching my best woo."

"Tell it to the Orioles. Let me up, now please." Lest she pitch some woo herself.

Trent lingered, inhaling through his nose, nuzzling Hannah's neck and making her insides go all fluttery while her IQ threatened to plummet into the single digits. She cadged a few more strokes of his hair, of the soft, silky abundance of it, until she knew if Trent didn't take himself away soon, her common sense would implode altogether.

"Off," she said, tugging gently on his hair. "Now."

He sat up, looking like some sort of barbarian prince with his hair in complete disarray. He also looked like he wanted to say something, so Hannah touched her fingers to his mouth again.

Such a deceptively soft pair of lips he had.

"I want to go over my docket with you, Trenton Knightley. I need to."

"Your docket. Right," he said, speaking the words against her hand. "Your wish is my to-do list, et cetera, but you'll drink your tea first."

He got off the couch, and Hannah's traitorous body let out a silent yelp of bereavement. "Where are you going?"

"To tell the secretary to straighten up the war zone now known as your office."

"But if she moves my-"

"It's twenty file folders, Hannah. She will a.s.semble them in docket order, so they'll be ready for you tomorrow morning. Drink your tea before it gets cold, and give a man a minute to regain his tattered dignity."

Involuntarily, her gaze dropped to below his waist. His dignity was not tattered.

He shrugged into his suit coat, saluted with two fingers, and sauntered out, closing the door behind him. Hannah scrambled to a sitting position, a short nap having eased her headache.

Or perhaps Trent Knightley's hands in her hair had done that.

Hannah's bun had disintegrated, but without retrieving her purse and brush, she could do nothing about that. She sipped her tea, which was still wonderfully hot and fixed exactly as she liked it, with both cream and sugar.

Those kisses had been exactly as she liked them too. What lady wouldn't like being wakened by a handsome prince?

"I hadn't realized your hair is so long." Trent closed the door behind him, and Hannah was glad for the privacy. He'd rattled her thoroughly, though she'd been rattled since she set foot in her office Monday morning.

"I need to get it cut," she said, aiming a frown at the ends trailing over her arm. "It's a nuisance when it's down."

"It's beautiful," he said, settling in beside her. He'd brought a clipboard and a copy of the docket with him. "Now tell me about your cases, Stark. I will attempt to supervise you. I hope it makes you happy."

"It will make me relieved," she said, setting her mug down. At some point while she recited facts and cited cases, Trent's arm went around her shoulders, and his hand wandered around in little caresses and strokes and pats. His touch felt good, and only moderately distracting.

An hour later, Hannah's tea was gone, her headache was fading fast, and she still sat side by side with Trent on the couch.

"You know your cases cold," he p.r.o.nounced. "You'll keep Margaret on her toes, and I'll check in on you if my divorce takes a recess."

"And yet I'm scared."

He gently pushed her head to his shoulder. "What can you possibly be scared of? You're a hundred times more prepared than Gerald ever was."

"What if I forget everything? What if the judge brings up some precedent I haven't even read? What if my clients don't show up because I told them the wrong time, and then bench warrants are issued for failure to appear? What if Gerald Matthews comes and sits in the back of the courtroom and laughs the whole time I'm trying to do my job? What if I'm so inexperienced I don't even know the right things to be worried about?"

Foster care left a woman with an overactive imagination for all the wrong things.

Trent said nothing, and to Hannah's horror, her breath hitched. If he'd only stop touching her, maybe she could find her composure and put together two-and-a-half coherent thoughts relating to something halfway- Trent kissed her temple, which didn't help one freakin' bit.

"My head hurts, and I have d.a.m.ned c-cramps, and I can't think..." She had not just said that.

"Hush."

"I hate this." Or that either.

"You hate to feel overwhelmed. We all do, but give yourself credit, Hannah. You're taking on one h.e.l.l of a challenge, and you've prepared well for it."

"Now you start with the boss talk. I'm scared out my feeble wits, and I'll never like going to court."

"You may not like it-even I dread court sometimes-but litigation will become routine, just part of the job, one of the things you do to earn your daily bread. The work is honorable work, and you can do a lot of good for a lot of people with the skills you have."

"The skills I hope I have."

They fell silent, Hannah trying to marshal her resolve to get up and leave the comfort of simply being near Trent.

"I probably shouldn't have been hitting on you," Trent said. "I am sorry, but you looked so adorable catnapping, and I am not entirely myself where you're concerned."

Finally, a shaft of real encouragement, because maybe the loss of balance wasn't exclusively Hannah's?

That helped a little. "I haven't decided to hit back, you know. Or to..."

"I know," he said, patting her hand, which still clutched a mangled tissue. "If you decide my overtures aren't welcome, that will absolutely be the end of it. I hope you know that."

"Good to hear it." Sort of.

"You'll be OK in court tomorrow, Stark?"