Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(63)
Author: M. Leighton

“You do realize that we’re going to win this, right? And that our careers will skyrocket, right? And that the world of Georgia law . . . hell, the world of law period will be our oyster, right?”

I smile. “How many drinks did you have tonight?”

“I’m not drunk,” he says happily. “Well, maybe a little, but not too drunk.” Jensen takes a step toward me, the look in his eyes changing to something I’m unfortunately familiar with.

He looks like a man who’s not here to take no for an answer.

“Jensen—”

“Shhh,” he whispers, cutting me off with a fingertip to my lips. “Let me show you how good we can be together outside the courtroom.” He brushes the hair away from my face, his eyes boring hot holes into mine. “I know you feel it, too. We’ve got some kick-ass chemistry.”

“Professionally, yes.”

“But not just professionally. I think you’re incredibly beautiful, Marissa. You’re smart and funny and so, so sexy.”

As if to accentuate his point, he lets his finger trail down my chin and into the valley between my br**sts.

“Um, I think it’s probably time you left,” I say, trying to keep my composure. I can’t risk harming the case in any way by making waves with Jensen. He’s right. We are good together. And we need to keep being good together until this is done. It’s too important to screw it up now.

“One kiss. Give me one kiss and if you tell me you feel nothing, I’ll go.” I really don’t want to, and I’m afraid kissing him will only further inflame him. But if he’s the nice guy he normally is even when he’s drunk, he might honor his agreement and just go. Peaceably.

So I chance it.

It’s worth it.

For Nash.

I nod and Jensen smiles. Slowly, he runs his hands up into the hair at the back of my head and leans in closer to me.

Like a ghost that refuses to leave, Nash’s face flits behind my eyes as my lids drift shut. If only the kiss of another man could make me forget. If only . . .

Jensen’s lips are warm and firm. He’s not too aggressive or too slobbery or too . . . anything. He’s actually a very good kisser. But, as adept as he is, it makes no difference. There’s just no sizzle, no bang. No fireworks. There’s only one pair of lips that can bring those. And they don’t belong to Jensen.

I feel the pressure of his tongue trying to get past my lips. I resist until he becomes really insistent, and then I part my lips, allowing his tongue inside for just a minute before I have to turn my head away.

That was way too much!

“Jensen, I think you’ve made your point. Now, how ’bout you go sleep it off and, come Monday, we’ll pretend this didn’t even happen, okay?”

From my peripheral vision, I see him pull his head back a little. I turn just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark with passion, the pupils huge inside the pale blue irises. In them, I see a debate. He wants to press me, to press the issue. But something is holding him back.

“That was a great kiss, Jensen. It’s not that. And it’s not you. It’s . . . it’s . . . someone else.”

That gets his attention. He pulls back further, frowning. “Who? Nash?”

“N-no,” I say, only because it’s not the Nash he’s thinking of.

“Then who?”

I can’t think of a convincing lie quickly enough, so I go with the truth. “His brother.”

“You’re kidding, right?” When I don’t respond, he laughs, a short, bitter bark. “Oh my God. The guy that looks like he spent time in the same cell with his dad? That guy?”

“Jensen, don’t be mean.”

“Are you telling me I’m wrong? He looks like a career felon.”

That gets my ire up. I push at his chest until he moves back, giving me some space. “Well, he’s not, so maybe you should keep your shallow opinion to yourself.”

I slide out from between Jensen and the door, walking into the living room before turning to face him.

“You can do so much better than him. For God’s sake, Marissa, come on!”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You know what, Jensen? You couldn’t be more wrong. He’s one of the greatest men I’ve ever known, long hair and all. Why do you think I’m fighting so hard to win this case?”

“I heard you had some personal interest in it, like really personal. But it was hush-hush and I figured you’d get around to telling me eventually.”

I’m so glad now that I didn’t.

“Oh it’s personal, all right,” I say, letting the statement sound suggestive, hoping that will be enough to kill his attraction to me. Maybe if he thinks I’ve got a thing for slummin’ it, he’ll deem me unworthy of a man like him and leave me alone. “I happen to like a man with some ink and some scruff. I think it’s pretty hot.”

All right, that might’ve been laying it on a bit thick.

I cringe inwardly, praying it wasn’t too much.

With an exasperated shake of his head, Jensen gives me a look and backs toward the door.

“I guess you’re right. Looks like our good chemistry stops on the courthouse steps.”

I raise my chin a notch, but say nothing.

“Good night, Marissa.”

“Good night, Jensen,” I say, waiting until I hear his footsteps on the sidewalk before I go and snap the deadbolt closed on the door. “Good riddance, Jensen,” I whisper, cutting off the light and heading for my bedroom once more.

Twenty minutes later, as I’m sliding between the sheets, the bed has never felt bigger. Or colder. Or more empty.

And neither has my heart.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Nash

Another month later

She’s very attractive, the girl who’s dancing for me. And she’s very obviously attracted. Clubs in Italy are not much different than they are anywhere else in the world.

This girl is blond, which isn’t as common in this country. That’s probably why I continue to watch her. She reminds me of what I miss most. Of who I miss most.

I’d give anything to stop thinking about Marissa. This is the umpteenth time I’ve attempted to drown out her memory in someone else. So far, it hasn’t worked. And judging by the halfhearted reaction in my jeans, this time won’t be any different.

I’m sure I could do the deed. I’m a guy; that’s not normally a problem unless there’s too much alcohol on board. No, it’s not the physical inability to go through with it. It’s the emotional one. Everything else gets in the way. My head, my heart, and the fact that I just don’t really want to.