Secrets and Seduction: 5 Romance Novels (49 page)

When she returned to his home, Ciara parked deeper in Bryce’s driveway and entered through the back door as he’d instructed. She noted with delighted surprise the basketball hoop set into the concrete in the secluded niche that fronted the garage.

She found Bryce in his office where she’d left him, surrounded by files and papers.

“Did you get what we need?” he asked.

“Yes. There’s no direct tie to the client.”

“That may be enough.” He nodded and went back to his files.

Ciara’s conscience twinged that what she’d done would aid Steele’s defense and not the prosecution’s case against him. It didn’t help knowing Bryce would have noticed the discrepancy, would have interviewed the witness himself and gotten the damning testimony. She felt that if Steele got away it would be her fault.

After several hours of reading, her eyes began to cross and her back and shoulders ached from how she was sitting on the couch. A glance at her watch showed it was nearly lunchtime. The basketball hoop called her name. She could flex her muscles a little before lunch.

As she rose, Bryce’s gaze crossed hers. “I need to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.” She snagged her car keys from her purse.

The temperature was already mid-eighties, but for once the humidity was low. She’d probably sweat in her business attire, but her clothes wouldn’t stick to her.

In moments she’d removed her slings and replaced them with her court shoes. She scooped her basketball from her trunk. She carried shorts and a tank top with her, too, but she didn’t intend for an all-out game of hoops, just a little limbering up.

It took a few minutes to feel comfortable shooting hoops in her A-line skirt, but the long kick pleat in the back made it easier. Soon she lost herself in her one-on-one against the hoop.

As she sank another basket, she reflected that her parents hadn’t understood how this activity both challenged and soothed her. It was a boy’s sport, they’d insisted, not fit for a girl. But she loved it.

She missed a couple of shots, felt a little rusty and attempted that same shot over and over until her movements were smooth again and she sank three in a row.

The sound of clapping snapped her head around. Bryce stood on the concrete back steps leaning against the black wrought iron railing watching her.

Ciara’s cheeks burned. He’d caught her not only goofing off on his company time, but being a jock.

“You’re good,” he said.

His praise made her heartbeat flutter. She twirled the basketball on her finger. “I played in college.”

“Four years?”

“Yes. Basketball scholarship. Then I played pick-up games in law school. I worked out with the team when I could.”

“Why didn’t you go pro?”

“I wasn’t that good.” She shrugged as though it meant nothing. In fact, she would have been thrilled to be asked to play in the WNBA. But no team had courted her.

Bryce came slowly down the cement steps. He held out his hands for the ball and she tossed it to him. He walked to the foul line, studied the hoop, and made his shot. It missed.

“I haven’t played in a while,” he explained.

Ciara retrieved the ball. “I wish we could play a little one-on-one.”

“Hmm, sounds delightful,” he fairly purred.

Realizing what spin he’d put on the words, Ciara blushed. She couldn’t believe how much that thought tantalized her. She dragged her mind back to the here and now.

“When you feel better, we can play and I’ll spot you points.”

“Ow. You’re hell on a man’s ego.” His voice held a sharp edge.

Ciara stiffened at his tone and his words. “I can’t be less than I am.” It came out sounding stuffy because she was strangling her anger.

“No, I can see that. Well I can’t either. Let’s try a little one-one-one anyway.” Bryce looked from his shoes to her court shoes. “Another disadvantage.”

“Bryce, you’re in no condition to play.”

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of. Give me the ball.” His autocratic demand matched his glacial glare.

“Here.” She bounced the ball to him, purposely not thrusting it directly at him.

He held it in front of him in both hands, his legs flexed at the knee. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Bryce, you just got out of the hospital. This is stupid. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“You really don’t think much of me at the moment, do you, Miss Alafita?”

Ciara sighed and took up guard position in front of him. She’d hurt his ego and now he had to beat his chest to prove he was a real man. This was a major mistake.

He tried to feint right around her, but she blocked him. She’d shut him down right here and now. But the impact of his hard, warm body sent sensual shocks through her. Her heart pounded like a trapped thing.

Bryce bounced the ball and tried the other direction. She moved in front of him with arms raised, not really trying, just standing in his way. She didn’t know if she wanted him to brush against her again or not.

He spun the other way and ducked under her arms. She turned with him and slid around in front of him as he went for a lay-up. She jumped with him to block the shot. His chest rubbed against her breasts, which tightened at the contact.

Ciara heard the clunk of the ball hitting the rim. All her molecules tried to reorient themselves to the court when what they wanted was to rub against him over and over, like a cat. With an effort she jerked her hormones to heel.

She turned in time to catch the ball. Then it was her turn at offense. She didn’t have a good set-up from where she stood, so she tried to get around Bryce. But he moved with her. His face, although flushed, was a deadly mask of competitive intensity.

Ciara feinted and twisted, but Bryce always seemed to be there. Then she slipped past him and went for the picture perfect lay-up. The ball barely kissed the rim as it fell through the hoop.

Yes
. She spun to smile at Bryce, but her smile died. He was bent over, hands on knees, gasping for breath. She rushed to his side, berating herself for a fool for letting him push her into playing. He wasn’t up to much physical exertion yet. She was as big an idiot as he was.

“Bryce, where’s your oxygen?” Panic made her heart trip like she was playing all out basketball.

He waved her away, and then patted his chest. His breath whistled in and out in a terrifying sound. Then there was a round disk in his hand, which he put to his mouth and inhaled.

An inhaler. She recognized it from TV commercials. Relief nearly buckled her knees. He took a second drag and the whistling stopped. Slowly his breathing eased and he straightened. Sweat beaded his flushed face as he took in great gulps of air.

“Sit down, Bryce.”

Ciara tried to take his arm, but he shrugged her off. After a moment, however, he moved to the steps and sat down.

His face could have been carved from stone. Worse than his courtroom face, this expression reminded her of iron control crushing something. She hovered by him, uncertain what to do. Her tight muscles screamed at her to do something. He didn’t look at her.

“Get your things and get out.” His voice was weak and hoarse, and all the more terrible for it.

“I think you need somebody with you.”

His glare could have seared a hole through her. “Get out or you’re fired.”

Belatedly she realized he thought she pitied him. It wasn’t pity but fear. She scrambled to reassure him. “Bryce, your debilitation is only temporary.”

“You’re fired.” His words were cold and lethal.

Oh, God, she had to finish this assignment. She lifted her chin. Her mother had taught her determination in the face of all odds. “I don’t think so.” She made a point of looking at her watch. “I’m on my lunch hour. I haven’t done anything on this court you could fire me for. My playing ball hasn’t affected my work performance, and you told me you were satisfied with that. If anyone’s behavior were questionable, it would be yours, since you made a pass at me. Any court in Detroit would award me a wrongful termination suit. And I don’t think you want that, Mr. Gannon.

“No, I believe I’ll stay and finish what we started.”

Bryce still glared, but that horrible stoniness had left his face. “Were you this much trouble to your last employer?” His voice was low but succinct.

“I’m not trouble. You’re just not used to having an equal on your team. I’m the only other full-fledged lawyer in your office.” She suddenly realized how odd that was for a lawyer as successful as he was. But before she could wonder what it meant, Bryce pulled himself upright.

Ciara was so relieved that he wasn’t firing her, she blurted, “Would you like me to pick up some lunch?”

He eyed her, and then the corner of his mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t condescend to ask or order a practicing attorney to do such a menial task.”

She blinked. He’d made a joke. “We have to eat.”

“My housekeeper put something in the fridge.”

Housekeeper. Another example of his affluence. “I have to put my ball in the trunk. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Ciara turned so she wouldn’t watch Bryce climb the stairs. She collected her ball and strode out of sight to her car. There she leaned against the opened trunk and took in great gulps of air.

She would never have spoken that way to Bryce if this had been a real job. She’d spoken as though she had balls. Her mother would be mortified. A delicate shudder ran through Ciara. She wasn’t mortified at all. In fact, she felt rejuvenated. She’d stood toe to toe with Bryce Gannon as an equal and won. When had he gone from fool to equal?

Ciara had looked hot playing basketball in that tight skirt. Bryce shook his head to dispel the image, but it wouldn’t go away. She was cool and reserved in that skirt and knit top, all business with her hair upswept. But get her on a basketball court and that long body moved with a fluidity that set his blood on fire.

And the joy on her face. She hadn’t even been aware he was watching she’d been so wrapped up in something she clearly loved. Yet she’d given it up to practice law. Why? And then she’d allegedly given up the AG’s office for her family. Her behavior didn’t make sense. What part did Adam Steele play in her illogical decisions?

Then, to top it all off, she’d talked back to him, her employer, risking the job that allowed her to live close to her family. Wasn’t she afraid of Steele’s wrath if she lost this job? But Bryce couldn’t concentrate on her inconsistencies. All he could think about was the way her body had felt against his — warm and toned, her nipples peaked with the same desire he felt. His sexual engine had gone from off to turbocharged in seconds.

He wanted her. But she was right about one thing — she worked for him and passes from a superior to an employee were sexual harassment.

If they were unwanted.

Ciara hadn’t seemed repulsed by him. Would she welcome his attention? Could he risk it knowing whom she spied for? Would she report his behavior to Steele? Or, unpalatable thought, would her boss encourage her to bed Bryce to keep him happy? His muscles tightened in protest. Well thank God he wasn’t up for anything sexual, so the point was moot.

Bryce rooted in the refrigerator for the chicken salad plates Mrs. McCleary had made while Ciara interviewed Hasan and placed them on the island counter. He had just grabbed a couple of bottled waters when Ciara entered the kitchen. His body reacted immediately to the sight of her flushed cheeks and lithe body. His pulse sped up, his groin tightened, and he felt hyper alert to her presence. He turned back to the cupboards to hide his reaction while he dug forks out of the silverware drawer.

“That looks good,” Ciara said.

He turned back to find her on the other side of the island. “Mrs. McCleary swears by the Food Network.”

Ciara eyed the plates. “Did she have to make a special trip over for this?”

“She comes in almost every day to cook and clean.” Bryce motioned for Ciara to take her plate and follow him to the table by the window. “She went out to get groceries. She’ll be back this afternoon.”

“I guess she didn’t expect you out of the hospital so soon. I can’t imagine hearing something terrible about my employer on the news.”

“She didn’t hear it there first. Paul or Sean, or maybe Roger, called her.”

When Ciara frowned at him, he clarified, “My friends. They have limited power of attorney for me in case I’m incapacitated.”

“That came in handy. But why them and not your family?”

“I don’t have any family.”

When Ciara’s face softened into an expression resembling pity and she opened her mouth to make a comment, Bryce froze her into silence with a look. He sure as hell didn’t miss his parents.

Ciara ate for a few moments before asking, “How long has Mrs. McCleary been with you?”

Bryce appreciated the change of topic. “Five years.” Since his caseload had grown and he’d realized he’d probably never fall in love and find a wife to take care of him.

“I guess as successful as you’ve become, you need a housekeeper.”

Bryce laid down his fork. “Is that what you think of my life?”

Ciara gestured around her. “This house, the housekeeper, your Rolex — they’re status symbols.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” He jabbed a chunk of pineapple with his fork. He wasn’t ostentatious or flashy. He didn’t flaunt his earnings. He liked quality goods that lasted and clothes that fit well.

“Then tell me about Bryce Gannon.”

“I thought you researched me when you were looking for a job.”

Ciara flushed. “I didn’t learn things like that you had a housekeeper.”

“Lots of people who work for a living pay someone to clean. Mine cooks too and runs errands. I work a lot of hours. It’s how I’m successful.” He couldn’t help his curiosity about her, and hoped he could also trick her into showing her hand. “Don’t you hire it done?”

“The hotel maid service does everything at the moment.”

He pounced. “Hotel?”

“Well I intended to find an apartment, but your office manager offered me the position right away. So I’m in an extended stay hotel. Now I can take my time finding the right place to live.”