Because of You

“Don’t you dare say anything,” Aziza cautioned quietly when Jordan pulled her close to his body.

He pressed his mouth to her ear. “You owe me, baby.”

“No, I don’t. You didn’t have to play along if you didn’t want to.”

“I can always go back and tell Trevor that we just broke up.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Jordan smiled. “I dare, because I just saved your gorgeous behind from a man who was literally devouring you with his eyes.”

“I don’t know why my brother didn’t tell him that I don’t date.”

“Have you ever dated?”

Aziza gave Jordan an incredulous stare. “Of course I’ve dated.” She and Lamar had dated each other.

He stared back under lowered lids. “Why is it that you don’t date now?”

“I have a problem with trust.”

“You don’t trust men?”

She nodded.

“Does it have anything to do with your suit?”

A beat passed before Aziza said, “It goes deeper than that.”

Jordan’s expressive eyebrows lifted a fraction. “A bad relationship?”

Aziza’s eyelids fluttered. “How about a bad marriage?”

Her revelation that she’d been married rendered Jordan silent, and for the first time in a very long time he was at a loss for words. He, who’d earned his living debating and negotiating, was suddenly speechless.

“I’m sorry, Zee.”

“I’m not, Jordan. I’m just glad I got out of it before it was too late.”

“You’re going to have to trust me if you want my help with your case.”

“A professional relationship is very different from a personal one. What we’ll have is the former.”

“I promise not to cross the line,” Jordan said, when it was the opposite of what he wanted to do.

He liked Aziza because she was easy to talk to, straightforward, feisty and funny—a winning combination. She hadn’t freaked out or gone ballistic when he’d kissed her, and although she’d used him to parry Trevor Butler’s romantic notions, she’d managed to let the man down while not destroying his pride. Aziza had admitted she didn’t trust men, but it was obvious she didn’t hate them either.

He’d met women who’d complained about dating men who were misogynists, but he could say the same thing about women who were man-haters.

“Your promises aren’t worth the breath it takes to make them. What about my caviar? You weren’t very nice when you made a big show of eating it in my face.”

Jordan buried his face in her fragrant hair. “I told you that I’ll buy you a tin.”

“And I told you I don’t need a tin of caviar, Jordan. I don’t eat it that often or give dinner parties where I can serve it to my guests.”

“I’ll eat it.”

Aziza missed a step but Jordan tightening his hold around her waist kept her from losing her balance. “You’re going to eat my caviar?”

“Yep. You can it serve whenever we get together to go over your case. We’re going to have to meet at your office, because if you come to mine then you’ll become a client of Chatham and Wainwright.”

“I work out of my home.”

Jordan’s smile was dazzling. “Then I’ll come to your home. Unless…”

“Unless what?” she asked when he didn’t finish his statement.

“Unless you’d prefer to come to mine.”

“It’s all right, Jordan. We can meet at my place, because I need to give you tapes.”

Jordan stopped, his hand gripping her upper arm as he led Aziza out of the atrium. Skirting a couple locked in a passionate embrace, he pulled her into an alcove between the living room and formal dining room.

“You have tapes?”

A sensual smile parted Aziza’s lips, bringing his gaze to linger there. “Yes.” The word was barely off her tongue when she found herself lifted off her feet and Jordan’s mouth on hers.

“Get a room, cousin,” Brandt drawled, grinning from ear to ear as he strolled by with a buxom brunette clinging to his arm.

If the floor had opened up under her, Aziza would’ve easily crawled in and disappeared. If it had been anyone but Brandt, her client, she wouldn’t have been so embarrassed. And it wasn’t as if she could play it off that she and Jordan were exchanging the obligatory New Year’s kiss.

Brandt winked at her before she cast her eyes downward. “Don’t worry, counselor. When it comes to Wainwrights, Jordan happens to be the best in the bunch.”

“That’s nice,” Aziza mumbled under her breath. “Please put me down,” she ordered Jordan between clenched teeth. Her feet touched the floor and she turned and walked in the direction of the library to retrieve her wrap and purse, Jordan following.

He caught up with her. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she flung over her shoulder.

She wasn’t as upset with Jordan as she was with herself. Her image had to be impeccable if she was going to go public with a lawsuit charging a prominent attorney with sexually harassing his female employee; if anyone saw her locking lips with Jordan Wainwright at a party hosted by Super Bowl MVP quarterback Brandt Wainwright, then her display of affection could be called into question. Most cell phones came with cameras.

“I hope you’re not going home because Brandt saw us kissing.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jordan. It’s time that I head home.” Aziza entered the library, retrieving her shawl and purse, while Jordan picked up his jacket. She opened her purse, took out her cell phone and called the driver.

“I’ll ride with you downstairs.”

“I’ll be all right.”