The Kiss That Counted Page 3

  Emily shuddered and shifted on top of her and Karita couldn't help the slow grind she did in response. "Take me back to your place?"

  Emily's smile was tired, but already her face had relaxed. "Well, since we already fell over the cliff I don't suppose there's much harm in going the rest of the way."

  Karita laughed as she shinnied back into her jeans and wiggled into the passenger seat. Emily pulled down her shirt, slammed the sliding door on her way out and reappeared at the driver's door.

  Emily waited for the garage door to open before starting the van. After backing out she glanced at Karita and said, not unexpectedly, "How come I'm not in love with you?"

  "Because I'm not the one you need, maybe."

  "But you are. Tonight for sure. You're exactly the kind of woman I need in my life."

  Karita shook her head. Sometimes she felt older than Emily, though she was a good ten years younger. "If I was what you really needed you'd be in love with me. And since I'm not in love with you, we're square in that department."

  "I know. Want to get your car in the morning?"

  "Sure, it'll be fine." She knew the drive to Emily's house, just a few blocks, from their previous handful of nights together. If Emily had to leave before Karita woke she could easily walk to her car. In daylight she wouldn't mind at all.

  The van glided into Emily's garage and they lost their clothing again on the way to the bedroom. Some time later, with Emily drowsy and both of their bodies melted into the bed, Emily said, "If we didn't do this we'd be dating. We'd be looking for someone. We'd be serious about it. We're enabling laziness in each other."

  "Hey," Karita said softly. "You're not a surrogate anything. We both know why Lucy goes to the gym on her way home from volunteering. I'm betting Pauline wakes up her husband most times, too. We all need a little healing magic. This is how you and I find some."

  "I worry about you." Emily's eyelids stayed closed longer each time they fluttered shut. "You're so sweet and a natural giver. I'm afraid I take too much. Your time and your energy and even this, when you should be in bed with someone who loves you."

  "Silly. I am in bed with someone who loves me." She watched Emily sink toward sleep.

  "You know what I mean. I'm so scared you're going to meet up with some psychic vampire who'll suck you dry."

  Karita closed her own eyes as Emily's breathing steadied. She had no fear of vampires, evil witches and the like. She whispered the little safety charm her grandmother had taught her and hoped the spell would comfort Emily too. She respected who Emily was, and trusted her.

  In the encircling warmth of a good woman's arms, when she ought to be drowsy and at peace, her mind instead picked at still painful places.

  Don't start, she warned herself, but it was already too late. Memories of curling up with Mandy, just like this, filled her mind. Mandy had long since found someone else. Someone who would put Mandy at the center of her universe and revolve around her. Someone who would find the arrangement as perfect as Karita had, until she'd made the mistake of thinking that, for just a little while, she could pay more attention to her own life than Mandy's, and that Mandy would wait, for just a little while.

  You're not an elf, she reminded herself sleepily. No amount of magic would have changed Mandy's mind. Because of Mandy she did know what love was, however, and she knew that what she felt for Emily wasn't that kind of love. Her feelings for Emily were simpler, and maybe that was better for her, right now. Emily's hand drifted on to her hip to pull her a little closer. She had all she needed, didn't she?

  Chapter 3

  "I was just heading out for lunch. Nate Summerfeld is going to sign for the fourteenth floor of the Prospector Building."

  Jerry gave CJ his usual bright smile. "Attagirl! To p of the sales chart again this month, I bet." His boyish, sports-buff charm made him a good salesman, but it grated on CJ. Jerry had never had to shake a living out of the world, nor spend a minute of his day looking over his shoulder except to see if anyone from his old boys' network was offering to buy him a drink. He'd been born with connections, and they continually paid off. She had long since decided that he wouldn't have survived life in the Gathering where your connections—your family—didn't give, but instead took.

  "I always try, Jerry, you know that." CJ, aware her tone was terse, made a show of putting on her suit jacket and gathering her portfolio and handbag. Unwelcome thoughts of the Gathering had tightened her nerves and put her in a bad mood. It was clear Jerry was hoping she'd invite him along to lunch, but she had no intention of doing so. It wasn't a good idea for people to horn in on business meals—that was Jerry's own edict—but he was notorious for cadging lunch. She didn't want to be the exception to his rule, not today. The contract she hoped to get signed was too valuable to risk interference. "Gotta run, boss."

  On her way from her office to the elevator she made a slight detour to Juliya's cubicle. "The LoDo Round Table was pretty dull," she told her, "but I picked up a few business cards for prospective small merchants. None of them seemed particularly hot, but you never know."

  "Thanks, CJ. That's really nice of you." Juliya beamed, her pixie features lit up with enthusiasm.

  CJ didn't handle small leases so it was no skin off her nose to pass on the contacts. "I also told them I had a colleague I thought knew their district better than I did, and put in your name."

  Juliya leapt to her feet to give CJ a hug, and CJ did her best not to stiffen. "Even if they don't invite me, thank you so much!"

  "De nada." She gave Juliya's back an awkward pat. "I'm off to lunch."

  "The Summerfeld deal? Good luck!"

  "It's in the bag, but thanks."

  Unfortunately by the time CJ got to the elevator Jerry was already there and he still looked hungry. She couldn't think of any small talk that wouldn't end up with him sucking up for some lunch. Fortunately, the rookie, Burnett, provided a distraction. Being the most recent addition to the staff, he had the cubicle closest to the elevator and the least amount of privacy.

  Every word he said into his phone was crystal clear: "As I said, this is not my prescription. This is an estrogen prescription for my grandmother who can't call you herself. No, she doesn't have extra prescription coverage. She's not eligible for Medicare yet. Yes." After a pause he said slowly and carefully, "I am her grandson because she is my grandmother…"

  A long-dead mother and a father she hoped never to see again spared CJ conversations like that.

  "Where you taking the client?" Jerry was doing that bouncing on his toes thing that always made CJ think of bobble-head dolls. His just-a-guy demeanor had always tempted her to take him lightly, but she'd learned he was astute in business—and, at times, unprincipled.

  She fiddled with her briefcase. "Where else for an ex-quarterback from U. of C.? Elway's."

  "Oh, nice place, nice place." Jerry smiled hopefully but CJ was not giving in.

  Burnett joined them at the elevator, heaving a vast sigh of frustration. "Never call an insurance company on an empty stomach. Time for some lunch."

  "I'm off to a deal closer," CJ said, caught between appearing rude by not asking him to join her and appearing to boast. He was a nice enough kid—probably not more than seven or eight years younger than she was, which put him at twenty-seven or so. Even in his real estate broker uniform of dark blue suit and patterned tie, he seemed fresh off one of the farms up near Fort Collins. He had a recent business degree from a college known for agriculture but enough personal charm to win a job that paid mostly in tiny commissions to start. She'd heard him canceling his cable a few weeks back, probably hoping to connect up again when the commission checks got steadier. It wasn't easy being the office rookie.

  Jerry clapped the kid on the back. "Just the thing, my boy. A great lunch will set you right up. Why don't you join me?"

  Burnett was flattered, and why wouldn't he be? Real estate, especially commercial deals, relied heavily on personal relationships. Rapport with the boss meant mon
ey in the bank, plain and simple. CJ sketched a good-bye wave in the parking lot and counted herself lucky to have other plans.

  Even though Elway's was a little heavy on the leather and dark paneling for her tastes, the food was excellent and many of her clients loved the place. She was pleased to find Nate had arrived only moments before her and they were seated quickly. Even as he agreed to get business out of the way so they could enjoy their meal, a small part of CJ watched with the same disbelief she always felt when a client prepared to sign the lease agreement. He really was going to sign it. She hadn't come to Denver eight years ago thinking to change her luck. Luck wasn't something she'd been raised to believe in. Yet, since settling here, she'd discovered a knack for the business sense behind commercial real estate. The captains of industry that men like Jerry usually dealt with seemed to like the way she did business.

  Commercial real estate was fairly stagnant in downtown Denver, and had been even before she'd decided to give selling it a try. Sweet-talking Jerry into a brokering job had led the way to a lucrative living sweet-talking people into signing contracts. There was a certain thrill in overcoming resistance to initial offers and the subsequent negotiation. It took insight and reading clients on both sides of the table. Those skills ran in her family, no doubt about it.

  Aunt Bitty's voice was whispering that if Nate only knew who CJ really was, he wouldn't be initialing fifty pages and signing on the final dotted line. But he didn't know who she was, and the deal was a good one, CJ answered back. She tucked the signed sheaf of documents into her portfolio and they toasted their mutual success with a delicious Australian shiraz of Nate's choosing. After that it was no trouble at all enjoying grilled mahimahi on greens and chatting companionably about Nate's family and the upcoming University of Colorado football season.

  She stood up to shake hands with Nate as he took leave of her and only then did she realize that Jerry and Burnett were seated on the other side of the dining room. Ouch, the poor kid. She wasn't even sure he was cut out for this kind of business, but one thing was for certain—he was about to get the shock of his young life. She'd found out the hard way about Jerry's tendency to excuse himself before the check came.

  She sat down again at the table to finish her glass of wine and make sure all the fields on the accounting data entry form were completed. If it was scanned in today she'd get her initial commission in the next pay period. After this commission it would take only one more medium-sized deal to cross another name off her list. She had three possible contacts in the hopper— one would pay off.

  All the data blocks completed, CJ added her flourish and sat back to drain the glass of the very fine shiraz. She wasn't exactly spying when she craned her neck to see how Burnett was faring with Jerry. Sure enough, Jerry was patting his pockets, no doubt saying he'd get the car from the valet. Jerry left and the waiter was on the way with the bill.

  She tucked her own credit card into the folio that had been discreetly placed at her elbow a few minutes earlier. She would be able to submit her expense for reimbursement because she had a big contract to show for it. Lunch with the boss was not reimbursable. She peeked over the divider again. Hell, the kid looked like he was going to pass out. Including the wine, her own bill was over a hundred and fifty sans gratuity. Given Jerry's tastes, she bet Burnett was looking at two hundred once he figured in the tip.

  Her waiter emptied the last of the wine from the bottle into her glass, then began to pick up the folio. CJ quickly put her hand on his.

  "This is going to sound crazy, but I want to pay the check for the gentleman at that table over there. Can you arrange that? Use my credit card instead of his?" She was going to regret this, she just knew it. She wasn't going to get a thing back for it, so why bother?

  "I think so, madam, I'll just let the gentleman know—"

  "No, I don't want him to know it was me."

  She got a look that said she was being strange, but he waylaid the other waiter, who then headed toward her.

  "Madam?"

  She'd not been madam'd so much in her life. She held out her hand for Burnett's folio. "May I?"

  She scanned the bill. Jerry was such a weasel—he'd picked a reserve cabernet and used it to wash down a starter, a salad, a soup and a filet with foie gras. He was a candidate for heart failure, no doubt about it. She didn't know why she was doing this—it made no sense to feel sorry for Burnett, no one had bailed her out when Jerry had stuck her with a lunch bill that size when she'd had next to nothing in the bank after forking out major dollars for the real estate licensing course and exam. Better Burnett should toughen up or quit. It would save him time if he figured out this wasn't the business for him. Really, it would be kinder in the long run to let him pay for it.

  With a sigh, she nodded. "Yes, put that one on my card as well. Just make it two separate transactions."

  Both waiters intoned a serious "Yes, madam" and went away. Given how much the lunch was now costing her she saw no reason to waste that last half glass of shiraz. She quickly downed it, munched on the crumbs of the tart she'd had for dessert, then signed the two charge slips the moment they were delivered. She packed up her folder of paperwork, tucked everything into her portfolio and went the long way toward the exit, not wanting Burnett to see her leaving.

  She waved at Jerry, who was idling in the valet driveway, waiting, and murmured, "You ass," behind her gritted teeth. She had parked on her own, preferring not to hand her keys to a stranger or be prevented from quickly reclaiming her car should that be unpleasantly necessary. By the time she exited the large Cherry Creek parking garage in her all-weather Trailblazer, there was no sign of Jerry or Burnett and she heaved a sigh of relief. With luck, Burnett would thank Jerry for the lunch and Jerry would presume Burnett was pleased to have paid for the pleasure of Jerry's company. That's how big Jerry's ego—

  A squeal of brakes and furious honking brought CJ out of her meanderings. She waved an apologetic hand at the other driver, realizing she'd not seen the car as she'd turned out of the side street. Hell, there'd been a stop sign back there, too. She waited for cars to pass, then pulled out into traffic only to realize he reflexes were way off. That last bit of wine…by a miracle there was a spot open at a meter she could pull into. Motionless at the curb, she switched off the engine.

  Well, that was idiotic, she scolded herself. She ought to walk it off—she felt like a teenager. How stupid was that, not to have realized that her delicious but light meal hadn't offset the wine? She'd practically chugged the last four ounces.

  A knock on her window startled her and her heart went into overdrive at the sight of a blue-uniformed Denver police officer. She belatedly realized a police motorcycle was just behind her car, lights flashing.

  "License and proof of insurance, please."

  CJ fumbled for her wallet. "I realize I pulled out in front of that other car, Officer. I wasn't concentrating, and it rattled me, so I pulled over." Don't babble, she could hear her father telling her. Don't explain too much. Don't volunteer anything. Don't give them the real ID.

  But she didn't have fake ID anymore. And she didn't think she was over the legal limit—shut up, CJ, pay attention.

  She watched in the rearview mirror as the officer.—burly, white but otherwise indistinguishable behind his sunglasses and visor—checked the small computer display on his bike, then wrote something in his ticket book. Struggling to control her panic, CJ couldn't help but tell herself that law enforcement was more connected today than it had been sixteen years ago. What one traffic cop suspected, marshals could learn in minutes.

  That's only in the movies, she told herself, and it was just a stop sign. As the cop started his walk back to her window she hated that her father's advice came back to her after all these years—become the person you have to be to get what you want from the other guy. But CJ didn't want to be anyone but who she was—focus, CJ, for Christ's sake, focus. It's a cop, with handcuffs and a direct path to the nearest jail.

&
nbsp; He returned to her window with ticket book and a wrapped object of some kind tucked under his arm. She reminded herself that the slow tread and flex of muscle was meant to scare her. "Would you please step out of the car and join me at the curb, ma'am?"

  Moving carefully, but not too slowly, CJ did as requested. The sun had reached its peak for the day and the heat was intense.

  "Have you been drinking, ma'am?"

  Like she was going to tell him. Eyeing the kit in his hand, she asked, "Are you going to give me a breathalyzer?"

  "Yes ma'am." He quickly showed her where to breathe and CJ knew her father would have figured a way out of this by now, including making a run for it. When nothing you have belongs to you it's easy to leave it behind. She was exhaling before she could think of a reason not to.

  He showed her the result: .07, under the limit by a hair. She wanted to do a dance but she wasn't out of the woods yet.

  "Ma'am, you realize the law isn't just about this number. If you're impaired in any way, I can still arrest you for being under the influence. My judgment is that you were operating your motor vehicle while impaired."

  Never tell a lie for no good reason—that was the first rule of running a con. Cops could smell lies, so CJ went for the truth bolstered with some plausible fiction.

  "Look, I left the restaurant quickly and yes, obviously, I've had some wine." He'd never believe her if she said she'd ducked out to avoid being identified as the person who had settled someone else's bill. Her pounding heart added an authentic quaver to her voice. "My boss was hitting on me. As soon as I got out into the sun I realized I wasn't thinking clearly and I pulled over. I wasn't going to go on driving. I was just going to walk around for a while and figure out what kind of job I'd rather have."