Trouble (6 page)

Sean glanced between them, his expression bemused. “Weren't you two talking? Didn't you introduce yourselves?”

Dara's stricken gaze flew to Mike's face.

“We introduced ourselves, but I guess neither of us made the connection to you, man,” he told Sean.

Sean nodded. “Did you two eat yet? I'm starving.”

Dara blinked. Shook her head.

“Let's go.”

Sean put a hand on the small of her back and guided her to the door. Dara hesitated and turned her head halfway, as if she wanted to look back over her shoulder at Mike. But she didn't.

She left with Sean.

Mike stared after them, seething and sorely tempted to rip Sean's arm from its socket.

Back in the living room, Dara felt Mike's accusing gaze following her. She didn't want to look at him, but couldn't control the way her eyes kept finding him the way a compass needle always finds north. He was furious and, as near as she could tell, hurt, probably because he thought she'd been playing games with him. She hadn't. Still, she felt guilty for flirting with Mike when she knew Sean was into her.

Mike Baldwin, he'd said.

Baldwin
. Duh.

He'd had her hormones in such an uproar that his name hadn't clicked. He and Sean did look somewhat alike, now that she thought about it. Their skin color was roughly the same, and their hair, although Mike's was shorter.

But Sean was always open and cheerful. Mike's expression was darker and more intense.

She watched as Mike walked to the buffet table, where an attractive woman immediately engaged him in conversation. Dara had no idea who the woman was, but she hated her on sight.

Jealousy was a new and unwelcome emotion to Dara and further indication that she needed to give Mike Baldwin as wide a berth as possible if she wanted to stay sane. Clearly, the man had done something to her body— something indescribably delicious but also terrifying. His light, fresh cologne lingered in her senses, as did the timbre of his voice and the phantom imprint of his hand in hers.

Well, she didn't need him commandeering her thoughts and senses, thanks. Those things belonged solely to her and she intended to keep them. Looking away from Mike and the hoochie, she sipped her wine. Thought about all the reading for class she had to do tomorrow. Plus she had grocery shopping and laundry—

I wished I could take you home and make love to you
, he'd said.

Grrr. There he was again, back in her thoughts.

Now here she was, fantasizing about sex with a man she'd known a grand total of thirty minutes.

Another sip of wine tasted like vinegar in her mouth, so she hastily swallowed it and set her glass on a passing server's tray.

God, she was stupid.

That was the real bottom line here. The whole episode with Antonio had apparently taught her nothing about men. Why was it so hard to remember that casual sex didn't work for her? Mike Baldwin, therefore, was not the man for her, and it was a damn good thing she'd realized it right off the bat. He was arrogant, overbearing and in search of a quick hookup. He'd admitted as much. Well, good riddance.

Only … Why was her stomach churning with disappointment?

She needed to get over that and focus on her relief that she'd narrowly escaped disaster. She was on the emotional equivalent of the last helicopter out of Saigon, and she was grateful. Whew. Because Mike Baldwin would consume her if she let him. No question about it. He'd fill her every waking thought the way he filled up every room he entered. If he set his mind to it, he wouldn't be satisfied until he knew and understood every part of her. He'd read her thoughts and get inside her mind. And if she let him make love to her, he'd take her places she'd never dreamed of, teach her things about her own body that she didn't know.

And if he decided he wanted them, which, of course, he would
not
, he wouldn't be happy until he possessed her heart and soul.

She couldn't let any of that happen. Law school was her purpose in life. That was it.

Vivid memories of that heartbroken semester with Antonio flew through her mind: her stunned disbelief and feelings of betrayal; the abrupt end of their relationship; the destruction of the friendship she'd thought was rock solid; the end of her romantic dreams, silly though they were. And she remembered the aftermath: depression; weight loss; skipped classes; lower grades than usual. So the year she turned twenty-one, her biggest lesson hadn't come from school. It was that a romantic relationship wasn't worth the risk to her ambitions.

She wouldn't forget it.

She and Sean sat on one of the sofas and she checked him out, wondering how siblings could be so different. Mike had the confidence and grace of a big cat and seemed to have a feline disregard for his surroundings and what others wanted. Sean didn't have that same self-assurance. More than that, she'd bet Mike was a person who decided what he wanted from life and didn't stop until he got it.

Sean? Eh, not so much.

So he was no Mike, but he was attractive and she was only human. She'd noticed his broad shoulders, tight butt and disarming smile. She just hadn't given them a second look or thought.

Agitated, she watched Mike shake his simpering little friend and stride to the bar for a drink.

“Tell me about your brother,” she said casually.

Sean's scowl said it all: no love lost between brothers. “Like what?”

“You were a paralegal for him, right? At his criminal law firm?”

“Right.”

“He's not married?”

“
Him?
Hell, no.” Sean raised his eyebrow at her. “Why?”

Cheeks burning, she fussed with lint on her pants. “Just wondering. He seems pretty arrogant.”

“You have no idea.” He got that shy, puppy dog look in his eyes and took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

Dara stilled. She didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to see where this was going, but one Baldwin brother per night was all she could handle.

“Sean—”

“I'm crazy about you. You know that, right?”

Hesitantly—nervously—he raised his hand and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. She leaned away. Sean dropped his hand. Over Sean's shoulder, ten feet away by the bar, Mike stared at them, cold fury in his eyes.

“I want to get to know you better,” Sean continued. “Let's get dinner tomorrow night.”

“Sean—”

“Just think about it.”

Unwillingly, her eyes flitted to Mike's again. He stared at them, rigid and unmoving. He probably thought something was going on with her and Sean, and she felt his unhappiness as if it were her own. In that moment, she wanted to tell Sean no way, that she could never care for him. But then she looked back at Sean, saw the absolute adoration in his eyes and realized she couldn't tell him no.

Not now, not in public. She would let him down gently tomorrow.

“Okay. I'll think about it.”

From across the room, Mike nursed his drink, watched Sean and Dara in a frustrated rage, and bided his time. He knew he should leave before he said or did something he'd regret—other than throwing himself at his brother's girlfriend, of course—but he couldn't take his eyes off them. Maybe if he stared at them together long enough, it would start to sink in.

Had Dara been toying with him? Laughing at him, making a fool of him when all the time she'd known he was Sean's brother? He didn't think so. Maybe his ego was way out of hand, but he knew when a woman responded to him, and Dara had. So what did that mean? That she hooked up indiscriminately? Didn't even care if they were brothers? That didn't seem right, either. She didn't seem like the free and easy type.

Without thinking, Mike followed Dara when she went to the bar for some water. When she turned around and saw him, she froze, the water sloshing over her fingers. He'd had no idea what he wanted to say, but then his mouth opened, and the words came out.

“Busy little thing, aren't you?” he muttered.

She flinched. “Excuse me?”

Suddenly, it was imperative to make her suffer the way he suffered. He couldn't have her—Sean had gotten to her first—and Mike needed to punish her. He looked her up and down, letting his gaze linger on the breasts he'd never touch and the lips he'd never taste.

“There's me, there's Sean … anyone else?”

Her jaw dropped. “You think I sleep around?”

The pain in her eyes was satisfying and well worth the shame he felt for being an SOB. He shrugged as if her sexual habits held only a passing interest for him.

“Don't you?”

“No.” She glared at him and he could have sworn he saw tears shimmer in her eyes before her face hardened into stone. “Get. Away. From. Me.”

The harshness in her voice shamed him even worse. Never in his life had he talked this way to a woman—not even to Debbie. His lips twisted into a crooked smile, and he bent from the waist in a mocking little bow. Then he turned and headed through the crowd to the front door.

Screw her. Screw all of this. He was out of there.

“You leaving?” asked a voice behind him.

Shit. Not Sean again.

Mike stopped, schooled his features and turned. “Yeah. Long night.”

Just then, Dara materialized from around the corner, jacket in hand, and hurried toward the door. She had her head down as she rummaged in her purse and almost ran directly into Sean, who caught her by the shoulders.

She looked up, startled.

“You're not leaving, are you?” Sean asked.

She nodded, ignoring Mike while she pulled her keys out. “It's getting late, and I'm a little tired. I just said bye to Monica.”

Sean looked at Mike. “Well, I'm glad you two got to meet. What did you think of her, man?”

Mike's eyes flickered to Dara, then back to Sean. Above all else, he did not want Sean to get hurt. He stretched his lips, which was as close to an offhand smile as he could get.

“She's really something.”

Dara's lips thinned, but Sean nodded, pleased, as he turned back to Dara. “Let me walk you out.”

“Aren't you taking her home?” Mike asked. None of his business, but he had to know.
Had
to.

At this, Dara finally looked him in the face, a wild light glittering in her eyes. For several long seconds, she stared at him with absolute revulsion, as if he were a moldy substance she'd discovered growing on top of the leftovers in her fridge. She was furious; that much was obvious. If she'd had a knife, she'd have filleted him like a trout.

And there was something else in her big baby browns, something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

But then she abruptly turned to Sean and smiled at him, a glorious, breathtaking smile that felt like a kick directly to Mike's throat. Then she slipped her arm through Sean's and led him outside. “Let's go.”

Mike, sick with jealousy and fury, could only follow them down the long walk to the street. The night breeze felt cool and crisp, a refreshing change from the crowded air inside the house, but he barely noticed. His entire being focused on their linked arms. When Dara said something in Sean's ear and they both laughed. Mike clenched his fists and resisted the urge to smash his hand through the windshield of an SUV parked at the curb.

It was Dara's car. Sean walked her around to the driver's side.

Mike started past the sickening little lovebirds, on his way to his own car.

Dara glanced up, her eyes bright and hard. “Good night,” she said sweetly.

Mike couldn't answer. He was too busy swallowing back his jealousy and hoping he never saw this woman again.

The
violent slam of Mike's car door jarred Dara to her senses like a bucket of ice water to the face. What was she doing? Sending Sean mixed messages to make Mike jealous? Using him? Sean was an innocent party and she had no right to drag him into the crossfire. She wasn't that woman. Never wanted to be that woman.