The Cost of Happiness: A Contemporary Romance (27 page)

“You’re the one with the sharp knife.”

He laughed. “Do you have a bowl for the cabbage?”

She handed one over. “And when you’re done, you can cut the chicken into pieces.”

“Happy to be your
sous
-chef.”

“I have no idea what that is, but if it means you do all the messy bits, I’m good.”

“Remind me to have you over some night when
Top Chef
is on.”

“Let me guess. It’s a cooking show.”

“Yup. I’ve learned all sorts of fancy French cooking terms watching that show. I can’t manage the techniques, but I now know what the terms mean when I see them on a menu.”

“That’s a language I really don’t know—menu French. I took three years of Spanish and forgot all of it. I can order a taco, though.” She brought the rest of the salad ingredients over and carefully spooned them over the cabbage.

Dan watched her mix the dressing last and sprinkle it over the salad. She tossed everything, then served it on mismatched china plates. She took a filter pitcher of water out of the fridge and placed it with two tumblers in between their plates.

Hardly haute cuisine, but when Dan took a bite, he was elated. Meghan—who’d single-handedly cracked a multi-million dollar case through her persistence and reasoning—looked inordinately pleased that she’d made a salad for her boyfriend. “Very yummy.” No hardship to have seconds, in fact.

“No dessert, I’m afraid,” she said as she let him clear the dishes. “Kassie says I need to cut back on sugar.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Not really. Sometimes when cookies went on sale next door, I’d treat myself. When I thought about it, though, I had to admit she was right. I’d eat some cookies and not want to eat anything else.” Meghan made a face when he returned for their glasses.

“You look about twelve years old, miserable because your ice cream just fell off the cone,” he said.

“Kassie says I eat like a twelve-year-old. Well, I used to. She insists I didn’t know any better. She’s very patient with me.” Meghan laughed. “You should see her roll her eyes as she struggles to get me to understand this stuff. What’s a glycemic index? I still don’t know.”

“Do you get to explain the principle of estoppel or something equally valuable to her?”

Meghan squinted a little. “I helped with her financial aid paperwork. Does that count?”

Dan started to wash the dishes, rinsing them under the hot water tap, then lining them up in the plastic rack. “Based on my memories of financial aid, yes, I’d say that counts.”

“Good. I want to repay her efforts.” There was a shyness to her voice that surprised Dan.

“Did you have friends in high school?” he asked.

Meghan picked up a plate and started to dry it. “Of course.” She didn’t look at him, though.

“Girlfriends?”

She leaned over the plate. “Not really. I didn’t fit in. I hung out with some nerdy kids, but you know how it is in high school. I didn’t fit with any specific group. The farm kids, the jocks, not even the misfits. No tats, no piercings.”

“No blue hair, no thick black eyeliner?”

She peeped up at him, smiling slightly. “How about you? What group did you belong to?”

No way was he answering that. Debate Club, the baseball team, America’s Future Leaders. A life of privilege, really. “I kind of skated among groups. I probably thought I fit in all of them, while really not belonging to any.”

“Sounds lonely.”

He’d never thought about it that way. “I had friends. You know, it’s funny. I never thought about this before. Maybe it’s because I had sisters at home, but I was always more comfortable hanging out with the smart girls, the ones who got in trouble for snarking off in class. I don’t think I had a lot of guy friends.” Hunh. Maybe that explained how he and Shana—

“There. All done.” She hung up the dish cloth and put the last dishes away.

That was his cue to call attention to his lack of clothing. He tilted her chin up so he could kiss it. Then he realized they were standing in a well-lit kitchen with an open window a few feet away.

“Does anyone live across the street?”

“It’s part of Penn’s campus. I’m pretty sure it’s empty at night. But it’s cooler with the lights off anyway.” She snapped the light switch for the kitchen, then led him by the hand toward the bedroom. With the curtains open, the streetlamps over 43rd Street shed enough light for them to move through the space.

Her bed—a mattress on an unseen frame—was low enough that no one could possibly see them. The bedroom was cooler than the kitchen because the two windows were on different walls, allowing a cross breeze, but no one was going to say it was chilly in there.

She shed her clothes quickly as Dan tossed the top sheet toward the foot of the bed. As he caressed Meghan’s skin, he appreciated the slight glaze of sweat. Enough to reduce the friction of his palm—flat on her midriff, then down her hip and thigh. She smelled different, too. Earthier, although not unpleasant. The primal scent of fertility, he realized with a shock.

“Hold on,” he said softly. He padded to her closet, found his suit jacket and the inside pocket which held a soft paper napkin wrapped around two condoms. He’d been carrying them around for days, moving them from suit to suit along with his wallet and spare change. He hoped two condoms would be enough.

When he got back to the bed, Meghan had stretched out on her side. Her head was propped on her bended arm, the other arm curved over her abdomen. She appeared to be stroking her skin the way he had been.

Dan grinned at her. “Thanks for holding my place.”

“No problem.”

He put the condoms on the bedside table, slipped off his boxers, and aligned his body alongside hers. He lifted her free hand and kissed the back, then each knuckle. He turned it over, kissed her palm, delicately licking the faint saltiness off each fingertip.

When her eyes flared, he said, “Dessert.”

He could feel her chuckle as he pressed his mouth against her midriff, kissing his way up to her side, along her ribcage to the outside of her breast. She tasted warm. Her nipple rose to meet his lips. He licked it, using his tongue to trap it against the inside of his teeth. His right hand played with the other nipple. Her whimpers and mews provided feedback, clues to what he was getting right.

He knew this body by now. He knew what drove her crazy, what sent her over the edge, what held her, quivering, right at the knife’s point of pleasure. There were mysteries and puzzles left to solve, but he didn’t fear these challenges. They were like the dishes you haven’t tried yet at a restaurant where you’ve loved everything so far.

He shifted lower in the bed, settling between her legs, which she kept opening and closing. He looked up. Meghan had grabbed a pillow to hold over her face to muffle her squeals of pleasure.

Dan grinned. She could get a little noisy, it was true. Well, it probably wouldn’t bother the shoppers at the pharmacy. His thumbs parted her sex, stroking the sleek, swollen flesh.

She squeaked into the pillow. He laughed, then got busy.

When she was relaxed again, distinctly damp from their exertions, Dan grabbed a condom and rolled it on. He tugged on her leg, pulling the knee up, stroking her thigh as he moved closer.

She still had the pillow over her eyes. He pulled it away. “You okay?”

She looked up at him with the oddest expression. Sexual satisfaction, sure, but it was as if she was discovering him for the first time. She looked at each part of his face and head before circling around to his eyes. Finally she nodded and pulled him into her.

He wondered what she’d been thinking for a moment before the exquisite delight of being inside her filled his senses.

He had the most endearing snore. A low rumble for a second, then a mumbly noise, then silence for several minutes.

Meghan listened to the cycle for a while, interspersed with the occasional muffled car door slam from the pharmacy parking lot and—very far off—a siren. Police car or fire truck, she couldn’t tell.

She didn’t mind the lack of air conditioning. Pops’ house hadn’t had air conditioning. It had a sleeping porch in the back for the really hot nights. And if she absolutely couldn’t sleep, she could walk down to the locks on the Mississippi and watch the barge trains—five long and three abreast—fit into the lock with just inches on each side. Very soothing to watch the water flow in and the barges rise slowly for the northbound journey, or the water flow out as barges continued down toward St. Louis and Memphis.

All those summers of Iowan heat and she’d never shared a bed with the windows open and street noise for a lullaby. It was an odd experience. For one thing, she didn’t feel like snuggling—or rather, she did but worried it would only make her feel hotter.

And lonelier. Her heart hurt with a sudden desire to belong to Dan Howard—and the knowledge that she didn’t and never would.

What a time to realize she was in love.

Meghan started to roll over and fuss with the pillow, trying to find a cool side, then changed her mind. She rose and pulled on her panties and tank top. The living room was warmer but calmer. She sat at her desk, the room illuminated only by the street lamps.

She needed calm. How could she have been so stupid? She couldn’t afford to fall in love. It would end eventually, maybe even quite soon. What was she going to do then? Make cow eyes at him in meetings? Watch while he dated someone more suitable? Wish him well when he got engaged? Attend the wedding holding a gravy boat professionally wrapped and topped with a charming bow? Maybe she’d save the thank you note his bride would write to “that nice paralegal you work with.”

Yeah. Not going to happen. She had to end it before her feelings decided this was fertile ground and started to grow roots. On top of everything else happening this summer, major heartbreak would tip her into a very bad place. She’d grown up there, at the intersection of hope and despair, and she wasn’t going back.

If she stopped now, made a clean break, maybe she could see it as a fun office fling.

Trouble was, when to end it? She didn’t want to interfere with the ProCell case. Once they finalized a deal with plaintiffs’ counsel, Dan would get caught up with new cases and they’d see less of each other. Easy enough to pull away then. He wasn’t terribly invested in their relationship. Like that invitation to Maine—that was just Dan being a generous guy. He knew she had no money, so it must have seemed like a nice treat. A personal “Clean Air Fund” to get the poor girl out of the city for a long weekend.

Okay, so she’d break up with him after ProCell. It would be too awkward to do anything sooner, but as soon as that was settled, she’d sit him down, thank him for his kindness and generosity, then explain that the office romance was chafing a bit and she hoped he understood.

That should work.

She closed her mind to any objections as she padded back to bed. When she slipped in next to Dan, he rolled over and tucked her in toward his chest. He was warm, which felt good. She’d gotten chilled sitting by herself.

A few days later, Dan stopped by Meghan’s office.

“Wally’s gotten one of Philly’s best solo practitioners, Bert Shiner, to represent Greg Agnarsson. I’m going into a meeting with him now to hammer out an agreement for us to use Greg’s documents.”

She put down her pen. “I called Greg this morning—no answer.”

“I gather his sister—she lives in Toledo—drove over to pick him up. Bert says that our visit helped Greg see that his life had become too isolated since his wife’s death.”

Meghan didn’t realize how worried she’d been until the tension seeped from her shoulders. “Oh, that’s great. I know we’re taking the cloak-and-dagger stuff a bit far, but by the time we left him, I had images of corporate nut jobs landing the black helicopters on his back lawn.”

Dan nodded. “I felt the same way. His excessive love of deadbolts reassured me to some extent.”

Meghan laughed. “And the peephole—I can see the men in black fedoras standing on his front step for several minutes while he demanded to see their ID.”

“I gather Bert’s got a handle on his client. He’s shown Greg how to use his sister’s Skype account.” Dan checked his watch. “We’re up on forty-one, if you want to join us?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got to shift my energies to the pacemaker case.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Gotcha. Okay. See you later?”

“Sure.” After he left, she looked at the empty doorway. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, leaving her twitching with nerves. She needed to talk to Darlene about maybe getting reassigned to the Tax Department, or Trust and Estates. Even if they didn’t move her to a different office, getting away from the Complex Litigation Group might prevent a heart attack.

An hour later, Dan called her. “I want to brief Wally on ProCell. Can you come up?”

“Where?”

Dan chuckled. “His office? Big one on forty-five?”

When was the last time a paralegal got invited to the chairman’s office? Probably didn’t happen very often. If ever.

“Okay, I’ll be right up.”

Wallace Leith’s office was large, elegant and impressive. Rather like the chairman himself.