Counselor Undone Read online

  Removing her champagne glass with one hand, he pressed his other over the hand she rested on his chest. “No, milady, there’s no mistaking you. How about we get better acquainted, like you suggested earlier?” He tucked his face into the curve of her neck. “Mmm, you smell good. All flowers, and sweetness, and woman.”

  His lips trailed kisses along her neckline while he showered her with words of seduction. The sound of his voice, two parts sexy and one part awe, stirred her. She became enraptured by the risqué words he whispered. When he got to the part about what he wanted to do with his tongue, she shivered.

  He took her mouth in another rousing kiss. His tongue sliding warm across her lips, then along the length of her own, evoked sheer bliss. Wrapped in the feel of him, she didn’t notice the hand he slid to the split at the side of her costume until that hand invaded the fabric and moved up her thigh.

  Through a haze, she became conscious of his fingers caressing the side of her bare bottom, the stringy thong she wore giving him full access. His fingers massaged the firm muscles of her buttock. He still held her half-full champagne flute in his other hand, but the burden didn’t slow him down. He pressed at her back until she leaned flush against him from hip to shoulder. The long hardness of his arousal met her abdomen, and her hips swayed in a manner that made him groan aloud.

  When that old R. Kelly song about a little bump and grind began to play in her head, she decided she’d lost her mind. What was she doing in a darkened corner—outside no less—with a stranger, making out like a horny teenager? Something in her consciousness chided she needed to stop him, but she couldn’t muster the will to resist. She felt as if he’d put a spell on her. Maybe he should have come dressed like a warlock. He’d been looking for another Juliet, but he’d magically homed in on the one so deprived of a man’s touch she’d let him have his way with her outside on an open balcony.

  Everything happens for a reason, her grandmother always said. Taking grandmamma at her word, she wondered if there was a reason she’d ended up dressed like Juliet on this particular balcony at midnight so Mr. Gladiator could kiss her until she turned into a shameless hussy.

  At the moment, a reason escaped her, but perhaps she needed to accept the serendipity of the evening to truly appreciate the divine order. What would happen if she completely surrendered to the moment? Why not enjoy her first real New Year’s Eve kiss—not counting the kisses from her godchildren last year—in three years? She was long overdue for a serious, grownup New Year’s Eve kiss so surrender to the moment she did, with gusto.

  The act marked a defining moment in her life. Her nature didn’t include spontaneous or frivolous. She was the intellectual in her group of friends, the deep thinker, the analytical one. Known as a FranklinCovey planner junkie, she couldn’t get through her day without a prioritized daily task list. She didn’t take uncalculated risks, and she didn’t even kiss on the first date. Despite those deep-set character traits, she slowly raised her hand, pushed her fingers into his long, silky hair, and kissed him back as if he were the love of her life.

  * * *

  Michael yielded to her unrestrained response and fireworks ignited inside him. Heat pulsed through his veins, and a thousand pinpricks of light exploded behind his eyelids. The colors flashed brilliant, more magnificent than poppy fields on the way to Oz and just as dangerous. The onslaught to his senses stunned him. Unfamiliar feelings shook the buzz off his intoxicated haze, warning him he needed to be more aware of the moment—more aware of her.

  The sound of her soft moan lured him further into her magic, but the need to breathe forced him to release her lips. “Damn,” he gasped, leaning his forehead against hers. “Lady, you pack quite a kiss.”

  She chuckled softly. “You’re not so bad yourself, Spartacus.”

  He smiled. “So, you figured it out.”

  “Figured what out?” Her brow creased.

  He hesitated. Her puzzled expression perplexed him. The disconnect between his encounter with her earlier and her current demeanor deepened. In the parlor, she’d all but bluntly stated her obvious attraction to him. Now, she acted as if she’d never met him. Was she playing hard to get? He sensed a playful intelligence about her, but no coyness. This couldn’t be the same woman he’d met earlier. No way would he have let this woman walk away from him.

  He glanced at her costume to determine what new diva he’d encountered. He shook his head, annoyed with himself, when his perusal confirmed the same Juliet dress he remembered. He really should have laid off the cocktails an hour ago.

  “Never mind.” He reached for the mask covering the top half of her face.

  “No.” She stayed his hand, knocking her wig slightly askew.

  “I need to see your face.”

  “No.” She pressed more firmly against the hand he had at her mask. She had no intention of letting him see her face.

  He watched her breasts rise and fall. Like him, she hadn’t yet recovered from their soul-shattering kiss. He studied her eyes, which looked soft brown in the dim light. He could have sworn he noted greenish eyes before. Dismissing the discrepancy as a trick of the shadows, he captured her hand and pressed his full lips against her palm in an open-mouthed kiss. Although she didn’t make a sound, he felt a deep inhalation shudder through her.

  He rubbed his thumb along the soft skin of her upraised palm before he turned her hand over. Her long, graceful fingers ended with well-manicured, medium-length nails she’d painted with nothing more than a clearcoat. His thumb and index finger rubbed one of her fingertips, and he discovered they were her natural nails.

  “You have beautiful hands,” he whispered, admiring the golden undertone to her complexion he hadn’t noticed when her tanned hand touched him inside earlier.

  To think, he’d been about to give up his search when he’d spotted her standing on the balcony. He’d gotten a full view of her soft, curvy hips and round, full bottom in the sexy, modernized costume. The snug plum velvet, with its mid-thigh split and wispy, diaphanous overlay had accentuated her womanly figure and billowed seductively about her ankles. How had he missed those luscious curves before?

  He placed her hand back on his chest. His heartbeat raced beneath her palm. When her fingers curled, the butterfly caress made him hum with appreciation. He released her hand to its own temptation. “Do you have any idea what your touch is doing to me?”

  “Wha—?” Her words disappeared inside the startled gasped that rushed from her lungs when his hand brushed the front of her dress. Her nipples beaded at his touch.

  “Yeah, my problem exactly,” he murmured. “Everything about you makes me hard and swollen, too.”

  Her eyes darted to his. Despite the dim light, he could read the desire burning in their depths. His fingers played along a nipple before he palmed her and relished her heavy roundness. Her breast filled his grasp. She had to be at least a C cup, an all-natural C cup. The thought brought a smile to his lips. He pressed those happy lips against her neck and massaged her budded peak with deep, deliberate pressure. His hips moved.

  She groaned when he began to lower his head. “Wait.” She placed her hands on either side of his face to still its descent.

  His voice pitched low, husky. “Wait for what, sweetheart?”

  “I—I . . .”

  Her inability to form words amused him until he noted the look in her eyes. Sincerity and definiteness of purpose filled her gaze, with some confusion and uncertainty mixed in. Whatever the vibes she’d sent his way in the parlor, she appeared to have had a change of heart. The thought disturbed him. He couldn’t pinpoint what had happened between his gathering of two champagne glasses to track down a one-night stand and this moment of genuine human attraction. He needed more time with this woman to figure it out. Something about her beckoned him to get to know her and not only in the biblical sense.

  The melodic sound of her voice replayed in his head: You’ve made a mistake. I think you’re looking for someone else.

 
; An uncomfortable uncertainty tickled his nerves, invoking the feeling again that the woman before him differed distinctly from the woman he’d conversed with earlier. The moment of unease caused the lingering alcoholic fog around his brain to lift completely.

  Spurred by the possibility she might pull away, he wrapped his arms around her. “Be mine tonight, Juliet. Let me give you your first pleasure of the New Year.”

  * * *

  Juliet managed only a whimper in response to the gladiator’s entreaty. Her voice completely abandoned her. His nibbling lips returned to her neck. His warm hand fondling her breast, coupled with his well-endowed shaft riding above the throbbing apex of her thighs, built an erotic pressure deep inside her center and hinted ecstasy lingered only a small pelvic alignment away.

  A battle raged inside her. The level-headed intellectual in her kept telling her to nix this behavior before this stranger bashed her in the head, did horrific things to her, and dumped her body in some toxic ditch, making her a tragedy worthy of an episode of Criminal Minds. The passionate woman in her, the one she’d buried beneath a deluge of disillusionment and cured with a heavy dose of compulsive career focus, started fighting her way free of the self-imposed fourteen-month cell of abstinence.

  She pushed his hip, trying to put space between their thighs. “Please,” she tossed the impassioned plea at him, not really sure what she was asking.

  Was she asking him to stop? Yes.

  Was she asking him not to stop? Yes.

  She’d never understood the notion of mixed signals. She’d always thought it a simple matter of you did or you didn’t—you wanted to or you didn’t want to. How self-righteously ignorant she’d been. Heaven help her. Everything about this man turned her on, and she didn’t even know his name.

  His hand dropped from her breast. “Tell me, Juliet, are you as wet for me as I am hard for you?”

  His hand reached under the folds of her costume, and she squirmed. A deep flush spread over her body. She was wet. She blocked his hand with her leg, trying to shield the evidence of her arousal and stave off the orgasm that surely would occur if he touched her.

  He squeezed his hand between her legs and cupped her intimately. He lifted triumphant eyes to hers. “Why would you want to hide this from me?” he murmured gruffly.

  “I can’t . . . ,” she started, but didn’t finish. Her train of thought vanished with the glide of his fingers over the damp satin triangle of her thong. A sound squeezed from her throat she didn’t recognize, having never before vocalized this particular note of tortured bliss.

  “Don’t deny me, Juliet. You’re the best part of this whole miserable New Year’s Eve for me.”

  Despite herself, the urge to rock her pelvis against his fingers grew strong. She bordered on emotional overload. She couldn’t reconcile the pleasure she felt from his touch with the horror rising inside her for her uncharacteristically loose behavior. That this man’s kiss, his words, his illicitly placed fingers, could give her the most stimulating sexual encounter of her life both puzzled and overwhelmed her.

  Her feminine walls started to pulse and tremble, but she couldn’t allow him to continue. She slid her hand between them, inadvertently brushing the back of her hand against his erection. His sharp intake of breath rattled her already shredded composure.

  She wrapped her hand firmly around his broad wrist and closed her eyes to steady herself. When she thought she’d conquered her emotions, she opened her eyes and peered into his watchful gaze. “We have to stop.” She squeezed his wrist. “I have to stop. Please, let go.”

  A few seconds passed before he moved, letting his hand drop. A question built behind his eyes before he finally whispered, “Who are you?”

  She hesitated a moment, contemplating her response. She could tell by his expression he’d finally realized she wasn’t the woman he’d come looking for. Did it bother him? He seemed simply curious not angry. Nevertheless, innate self-preservation made her glance around for an escape route.

  The gladiator placed a hand firmly on her waist to hold her in place. “Tell me your name. Your real name. I have to see you again.”

  Her mind raced. Nothing good could come of a midnight tryst with an intoxicated stranger whom you almost let get inside your panties without even trading your real names. She needed to get away.

  “No.” She moved aside abruptly. “Let me go.”

  “Wait!”

  Their voices overlapped. Her movement caught him off guard, and he dropped the forgotten champagne flute he’d been holding. The bubbly liquid spilled down her back before the sound of shattering glass rent the air. She jerked and the corded shoulder gathers of her dress snagged on the curlicue design of his epaulettes. The cords unraveled and the bodice of her dress drooped, completely exposing her to the waist. Her mouth dropped open. Mortification overtook her when the gladiator’s eyes widened at the display of her naked breasts.

  Footsteps sounded near the sliding glass door of the balcony and a giggling voice carried across the night. “Are you sure no one else is out here?”

  “Don’t worry, baby,” came a masculine reply. “You’re safe with me.”

  The gladiator recovered quickly and clasped her to his chest, shielding her from view with his larger body.

  The giggling increased when the amorous couple passed them. “See, I told you someone else would have thought of this,” the female voice admonished.

  The deep male voice replied humorously, “Baby, they’re so into each other they won’t even know we’re here. C’mon. Let’s find our own private corner.”

  The footsteps faded, and Juliet became aware of her bare nipples squished against the gladiator’s chest. Instead of alarming her, the warmth of him felt oddly comforting. Instinctively, she understood he’d grabbed her to cover her wardrobe malfunction, which impressed her as oddly gallant under the circumstances.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, disengaging to attend her bodice.

  When she couldn’t get the shoulder piece back together, he intercepted her frustrated fumbles. “Here. Allow me.”

  The chore stumped him as well until he discovered a small clasp hidden beneath the gold cording. The clasp was bent, having snagged on his shoulder piece. He pressed it back into shape with a firm squeeze between his thumb and forefinger then latched it closed over her shoulder.

  She adjusted her dress and stepped towards the door, careful to avoid the broken glass at her feet. “I have to go.” She spoke without looking at him.

  “I really want to see you again.”

  “No, you don’t.” She shook her head and almost laughed at his shocked expression. “What you want is an easy lay. And I’m not that woman.”

  “That’s not—”

  She placed three fingers against his lips to silence him. “Look, this isn’t who I am. I don’t know what came over me tonight. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. Ever. So, you can forget about your all-nighter. You won’t be getting lucky with me.”

  She took a deep breath before she continued. “Unfortunately for you—” She sighed. “—well, for both of us really. I’m the kind of girl who needs a commitment, not the kind of girl you keep in your little black book for late-night hookups.”

  He removed her hand. “Whatever you say. All I’m asking is for you to give me a chance to find out who you are for myself.”

  She laughed and shook her head again. “I don’t think so. Something tells me after tonight, we’d be hard pressed to rewind to getting-to-know-you drinks or dinner and a movie. How about we simply leave it at our midnight rendezvous, and I’ll revisit the memory of tonight whenever I need to remind myself even someone as provincial as me can have a bit of a naughty girl inside.”

  Still holding her hand, he insisted, “At least tell me your first name.”

  She smiled fully for the first time. “What? And ruin the mystique? I don’t think so.” She began to walk away. She made it halfway to the balcony door before she hesitated. Sh
e turned to see his pensive profile staring off into the night. “Hey, Spartacus,” she called.

  He turned his head towards the sound of her voice.

  “You’re one hell of a kisser. Whoever your true Juliet is, she’s one lucky lady.” She returned to the party, but not before she heard him murmur under his breath.

  “You are my true Juliet,” he whispered, not knowing she could hear him.

  Chapter 2

  More bothered than he cared to admit about Juliet’s refusal to tell him her real name, Michael stood at the balcony railing staring into the night. New Year’s Day, he mused. A day for new beginnings.

  He surveyed the sparkling Christmas lights on the retail and office buildings of the Country Club Plaza. Over two hundred eighty-seven thousand multi-colored Christmas lights covered approximately one hundred thirty-nine square miles of Spanish-inspired architecture. The Kansas City novelty thrilled locals and holiday tourists alike. The beautiful sight would stay lit for another two and a half weeks before being doused until the next annual lighting ceremony to be held, as per tradition, on Thanksgiving night.

  From his position atop the upscale Wornall Hills condo building, Michael could see the entire fifteen-block display. The postcard-perfect visual made a fitting backdrop for what had turned into the most romantic encounter of his adult life. Two things were certain: One, he would never view a simple kiss the same way again; two, the woman he’d kissed tonight was definitely not the same woman who had accosted him earlier in the parlor.

  The feel of his Juliet still lingered across his fingers and across his senses. He had a strange sensation flowing through his consciousness. Amore a prima vista. He hadn’t thought about the concept in a long time. He didn’t believe in it—the notion that when a man met the woman right for him, he would recognize her instantly.

  As he stood alone with his thoughts, he remembered his father telling him often about the day he’d first seen his mother. His father always claimed it had been “love at first sight.” When he was young, Michael had loved listening to the story of how his parents had met. After all, his mother was beautiful. How could a man not fall in love with her instantly? Once he reached his teens, he became more skeptical, and his skepticism had grown over the years.