About That Night

Nineteen

KYLE STOOD AT the black onyx bar in the corner of the room, surrounded by a group of his friends. Firelight was packed to the gills, with everyone dressed in their Friday finest. By all accounts, the nightclub’s opening appeared to be a huge success, and for Dex’s sake, Kyle was thrilled.

Too bad he, personally, wasn’t quite feeling it.

Maybe there was something to this whole inmate adjustment process Jordan had been babbling about. Because all around him, people were laughing, drinking, partying, and generally having the time of their lives. Even better, there were beautiful women everywhere, many of whom had been trying to catch his eye all night. Yet something was off.

Kyle excused himself from the other guys, saying he wanted to walk around and check out the crowd. He found Dex just outside the door, standing at the balcony railing and proudly looking down at the packed crowd in the main bar below.

Kyle joined his friend at the railing—no matter what his issues were, he sure as hell wouldn’t let them spoil this moment for Dex. “How’s it feel?”

“I won’t lie. It feels good—real good,” Dex said. “Ten years ago, I was bartending in a college bar in the middle of central Illinois. Now I have this.”

“You earned it.” Better than anyone, Kyle knew how hard Dex had worked to open the nightclub.

“Yes, I did,” Dex said, his eyes traveling over the crowd. Then he paused at something he saw and looked over at Kyle with a sly grin. “Hmm. I think I might’ve found the cure for that emo mood you’ve been in these past few weeks.”

“Emo?” Kyle laughed at the thought. “Screw you. I’m fine.”

“If you say so. Still, you might want to check out the main bar. Red dress, two o’clock.”

Kyle’s eyes scanned the crowd half-interestedly, expecting to see some random hot, provocatively dressed girl. But when he finally located the red dress and, more important, the woman wearing it, he paused and just had to…stare.

Apparently, Prosecutrix Pierce had something other than skirt suits in her closet, after all.

Her hair fell over her shoulders in gorgeous raven waves, hitting right at the enticing V neckline of the sleeveless red dress she wore. Since she was partially blocked by the bar, Kyle couldn’t see anything below her waist, but his imagination was running wild at the thought of what the rest of her looked like.

“Oh, look who suddenly perked up now that a certain assistant U.S. attorney has made her appearance,” Dex said with a chuckle.

Kyle feigned nonchalance. “So she’s got a hot dress. Big deal.”

“Right. FYI, I’d lose the shit-eating grin before you go talk to her. And try not to stare at her rack this time.”

“Who said I was going to talk to her?” Kyle grumbled. With their lawyer-witness “situation,” it was probably better if he and Rylann stayed on opposite sides of the bar. Especially seeing how he was quite positive that getting any closer to her in that dress would classify as cruel and unusual punishment.

“If you don’t talk to her, somebody else sure will.” Dex pointed. “In fact, I think you’ve got competition already. “Five o’clock.”

Kyle whipped around, peering down at the scene below, and saw a guy with a white button-down shirt on the opposite end of the bar sipping his drink and staring at Rylann with obvious appreciation. The sleeves of the guy’s shirt were rolled up, revealing a tattoo with some sort of Celtic design on his forearm. Ooh…because that made him so tough.

Try having a prison record, dickhead.

As Kyle stood there watching Rylann, he suddenly realized exactly why he’d been in a funk for the last three weeks.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something he couldn’t have.

But there was one other thing he knew. No man—dickhead or otherwise—was making moves on Rylann Pierce that night. She may have had her rules, but he’d be damned if any other guy was going to flirt with her while he was watching.

And he knew just the man who could help him with that.

“Dex, old buddy, I need to ask you for a favor.”

ONCE AGAIN, RYLANN tried to catch the eye of the female bartender working Firelight’s main bar.

“One of the few times I’ve ever wished for a penis,” she said to Rae when the bartender stepped up to take the order of yet another male customer. They’d been waiting to be served for over twenty minutes. She’d even worn the red magic boob dress tonight, but unfortunately its mojo offered no help in this particular situation.

“You haven’t had sex in six months,” Rae said. “If I were you, I’d be wishing for penises every night.”

Rylann laughed. “Good, I think she’s finally coming this way.” She watched as the bartender sailed right past her. “And…no.” She suddenly remembered something. “Hey, how did your date go on Tuesday?”

Rae rolled her eyes. “I think I’m giving up on Match,” she said, referring to a string of bad dates she’d arranged via Match.com. “These guys sound so promising online, but then you meet them and they’re entirely different people. This last guy started off the evening by being fifteen minutes late. Then he finally shows up at the restaurant carrying a bicycle helmet, and when he sits down at the table, I notice that he’s sweating profusely and he smells.”

Rylann made a face. “That’s one way to kill the ambience. So what did you do?”

“I stayed for one drink, paid the bill, and politely said that I didn’t think we had a connection,” Rae said matter-of-factly.

“Look at you,” Rylann said, impressed. “Very suave and direct. You’re a pro at this.”

“Great,” Rae said dryly. “That’s exactly what I want to be a pro at: bad first dates. I read somewhere that you can tell within five minutes whether you’re going to click with a person. Personally, I think I know even faster than that.” She nudged Rylann. “Speaking of which, somebody’s totally checking you out. The guy with the white shirt, across the bar. Tattoo on his forearm—mmm, nice.”

Rylann casually checked out the guy while pretending to look at the bartender. He was cute. More than cute, actually. But much to her annoyance, a certain pair of devilish blue eyes kept popping into her head, distracting her.

“He’s grabbing his drink,” Rae whispered. “I think he might be heading this way. Don’t worry—I’ll make myself scarce.”

Granted, it had been a long time since she’d done this, but if memory served, Rylann was supposed to be feeling jitters of excitement right about that very moment. Then again, she was thirty-two now—maybe the butterflies in her stomach were taking a more cerebral, mature approach to the dating game and waiting to see how things developed.

A male voice spoke from behind her and Rae.

“Ladies, it seems that I owe you an apology.”

Rylann turned and saw a man, wearing a suit, who was in his early- to midthirties and had wavy sandy-brown hair.

He smiled in introduction at both her and Rae. “Gavin Dexter—call me Dex. I own the place. It’s come to my attention that you’ve been waiting awhile for your drinks. To make up for that, I’d like to invite both of you to the VIP lounge. I even took the liberty of reserving a table for you.”

Rae looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and then turned back to Dex. “That sounds great. Thank you.”

He gestured toward a staircase. “Perfect. Follow me.”

When he turned his back, Rae leaned in toward Rylann and chuckled under her breath. “We must look even better than I thought tonight.”

They followed Dex up the stairs and past a bouncer who guarded the door of the VIP room. Once inside, Dex led them through the crowd to a private, sable suede booth in the back of the room that was enclosed by a red velvet curtain on three sides.

After Rylann and Rae settled into the booth, Dex held out his hands magnanimously. “How about some champagne to start? Anything you ladies want. Your tab for the evening has been taken care of.”

Rylann looked at him quizzically. She was flattered, but this was getting a little odd. “By who?”

A familiar teasing voice answered her.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions, counselor?”

Rylann looked to her right and saw Kyle walking over, looking unbelievably handsome in his gray suit and tieless black shirt with the top button undone. And just like the night she’d met him, she felt it—instant butterflies.

So much for taking the cerebral approach.

“It’s an occupational hazard,” she told him.

“So I’ve seen firsthand.” Without missing a beat, Kyle made the introductions. “Dex, this is Rylann Pierce and Rae…” he paused, prompting her for her last name.

“Mendoza,” she said.

Dex smiled at Rae, then turned to Rylann with a curious expression. “Oh, Ry-linn,” he said, pronouncing her name. “I’d been saying it wrong after I saw the picture of you and Kyle in the paper.” He cocked his head. “Not a very common name, is it?”

“It’s Irish. I was named after my grandfather,” she explained. As the story was told, her mother had been very insistent upon the name, and her father, who had no particular allegiance to his Welsh heritage, had gone along with it.

Still, Dex looked intrigued. “By any chance did you go to Illinois law school?”

Rylann pointed to Rae. “We both did. Why?”

Dex rocked back on his heels and laughed. “Holy shit, I should’ve caught that earlier. You’re the chicken wings girl.”

It took Rylann a second, then she remembered her conversation with Kyle the night they’d met.

I don’t mind hot and spicy. Actually find that appealing in a girl. And chicken wings.

With a laugh, she looked at Kyle. “You told him that story?”

Dex slapped Kyle’s back. “Sure he did. I was working at the Clybourne that night, and Kyle here was grinning like a fool when he got back after walking you home. Hell, I half-expected him to burst into a song and dance number.”

Kyle cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “I…think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” He grabbed Dex’s shoulder and squeezed hard. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be, buddy? Full club, busy night—really, we’d hate to keep you.”

Rae waved a finger at them. “Hold on, someone better tell me the chicken wings story.”

Dex looked at Kyle, who looked at Rylann.

She said nothing for a moment. Then she slid over in the booth, making room next to her. “That was one of your gems—might as well be you,” she said to Kyle.

He looked surprised by the invitation, then his eyes turned a warm, deep blue. Without a word, he took a seat in the booth next to her. In the background, Rylann heard Rae and Dex begin chatting about the drink menu. But as she held Kyle’s gaze, all other voices faded away.

“Oh, now you want to be nice,” he said in a teasing voice.

Rylann smiled, her answer the same as it had been nine years ago. “I’m considering it.”

IF THE CIRCUMSTANCES had been different—and there’d been no “situation” between them—Kyle would’ve said he was on the best first date of his life.

He had a smart, funny, gorgeous woman next to him, and they’d been talking, just the two of them, for over an hour. Rae had disappeared to talk to some guy at the bar, and since then Rylann had been cracking him up with stories about a few very memorable cases she’d prosecuted—including one, from her first year on the job, about some genius who’d stuck a hair dryer in his jacket and pretended it was a gun, then tried to rob a bank with the power cord dangling between his legs.

The drinks were flowing, and the ambience was perfect—soft candlelight on the table between them, the velvet curtain secluding them on three sides. They were sitting close to each other in the booth, which gave Kyle the perfect vantage point to stare at…well, everything. Her full, lush mouth as she told her courtroom stories and sipped her wine. Her long, slender legs that were crossed in his direction. The creamy skin of her shoulders, with an adorable scattering of freckles he wanted to trace his tongue over. And that V neckline…hell, that was cruel and unusual punishment. Being a good nine inches taller than Rylann, he could see a lot from where he was sitting, and all he could think about was pulling down the straps of her dress and getting his mouth on those luscious breasts.

And…apparently, from the way she’d paused expectantly, she’d just asked him a question.

Oops.

Kyle quickly covered, pointing to his ear. “Sorry. I couldn’t hear you with all the noise from the bar.”

“Oh.” Rylann scooted in a little closer, so that her thigh brushed against his.

Kill me now.

“I just asked what plans you have, now that you’re no longer working for Rhodes Corporation,” she said. “I feel like I’ve been talking this entire time.”

He tried to focus. Christ, she smelled good—some light, citrusy perfume, or maybe it was her shampoo. He wanted to bury his face in that incredible dark hair to find out.

Get it together, asshole. Remember the “situation.”

“I’ve got some things in the hopper,” he said vaguely in response to her question. He wasn’t ready to share details about his start-up company yet—not until things were more certain.

She raised an eyebrow. “Legal things, I hope?”

Cute. “Yes, legal things, counselor,” he said. “Trust me, if I never see the inside of a courtroom again, it’ll be too soon.” Then he remembered. “Except for the Quinn case, obviously.”

“Right.” Rylann looked down at her wineglass, as if thinking something over. Then she looked up at him sideways, with a gaze that seemed a bit more…interested. “Why did you send Dex out to get me and Rae?”

The moment of truth.

Kyle knew he could follow their standard code of conduct and answer her with some dry quip, or joke, or sarcastic comment. But something about the ambience and the way she looked—and, more important, the way she was looking at him right then—made him want to forego the usual games. So instead, he held her gaze directly. “Because nine years ago, I walked up to the most beautiful girl in the bar, and tonight she’s still the only person I want to talk to.”

Her eyes widened at his words, and he waited for her to say something, anything, that would let him know that he wasn’t the only one feeling this way tonight. But instead, she turned back to her wineglass and toyed with the stem.

“There is something we should probably talk about,” she said. “I was in court today.”

Court. Kyle pulled back and shook his head in disbelief. Here he was, putting himself out there, and still all she wanted to talk about was work. “Really,” he said dryly.

“It was actually a fairly routine matter,” she continued. “But since you’ve been involved in the case, I thought you might be interested in knowing that Quinn pled guilty this morning. To voluntary manslaughter and conspiracy to violate a prisoner’s civil rights.”

Kyle went still. “What does that mean?”

Her eyes sparkled coyly. “Voluntary manslaughter? It’s a type of homicide where there’s no prior intent to kil—”

He put his hand over her mouth, cutting off the sass right quick. “What does it mean?” he repeated in a low voice. When he took his hand away, he saw the edges of her lips curving up in a smile.

“It means you’re no longer my witness. There’ll be a sentencing hearing, but for all intents and purposes, the case is over.”

That was all Kyle needed to hear.

He threaded his fingers through her hair and gently cupped her neck. No more games. “You didn’t have to tell me that tonight.”

She held his gaze unwaveringly. “No, I didn’t.”

An admission that spoke volumes. Kyle ran his thumb possessively along her lower lip, his voice a soft growl.

“Let’s get out of here.”