Julie James - About That Night

“It’s the man of the hour,” she answered, trying to muster up an enthusiastic tone before falling back onto the couch with her hand over her eyes. “Oh God, that hurts,” she whimpered.

“What hurts?” Kyle asked, sounding concerned.

“The invisible man pounding spikes into my head.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Maybe you should take out an invisible Taser gun and zap the son of a bitch.”

Rylann laughed, then groaned again. “No making me laugh—it hurts too much. I have a migraine,” she explained.

“Yes, I figured it was something like that. I’m on my way to Firelight to meet Dex. We’re having a few cocktails to celebrate my new partnership with Twitter. Can I bring you anything?”

Awww. “That’s sweet. But I’m okay. Just had a supremely crappy day at work, that’s all. You go whoop it up with Dex. You earned it. The thing with Twitter was genius.”

“You’re impressed again,” he said, sounding quite pleased with himself. “That’s three times you’ve stroked my ego now, counselor.”

“Imagine me saying something really sassy and quippy back to that,” Rylann told him. “But right now, it hurts too much to think. I’m officially de-quipped.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, there was a knock at her front door.

When Rylann opened it and saw Kyle standing there, she immediately pointed. “Go. You should be celebrating.”

Ignoring her, he stepped inside. “Dex can wait a few minutes to whoop it up. He’s at the bar every night. It’s not like he’s there just to meet me.” He shut the door behind him and looked her over. “So you’re de-quipped, huh? I didn’t think that was even possible.”

“Well, that’s because you…” Rylann struggled to pull at least one semidecent retort out of the pounding fog that was her brain…but came up dry as a bone. She sank exhaustedly against the back of the couch. “I’ve got nothing. Get in your zingers, go wild with the sarcasm—I’m totally, completely defenseless.”

With a smile curling at the edges of his lips, Kyle held up a Starbucks cup. “Drink this. My mother used to get migraines. I remember her saying something about caffeine helping.”

“Sweet Jesus, you are a god,” Rylann said, taking the cup gratefully. She’d had luck with caffeine before but hadn’t had the energy to stop at a Starbucks on her way home from work.

“Very true.” Kyle took her by the hand and led her to the couch. “Now sit and drink while I work my magic.” He took a seat behind her and began massaging her neck.

“Do you want to tell me about your supremely crappy day?” he asked softly as his incredible fingers worked on the knots in her neck and shoulders.

“I lost a motion to suppress that tanked my whole case.” She took another sip of her coffee. “Tell me what happened with Twitter. I can only imagine the looks on everyone’s faces when you walked in.”

Maybe it was the caffeine kicking in, or the massage, or simply Kyle’s rich, lulling voice as he told her the story, but slowly, Rylann began to feel a smidge better. She still had her migraine, but now it felt as though the invisible man were merely pounding her head with a dull, blunt object instead of spikes.

When she’d drunk about half of the coffee, Kyle shifted on the couch, leaning back with his legs outstretched. “Lie down. Put your head in my lap.” He saw her raised eyebrow. “Mind out of the gutter, counselor. This isn’t a sexual thing.”

Rylann set the Starbucks cup on the coffee table while he grabbed one of the throw pillows and put it over his lap. She started to lie down on her side, when he stopped her.

“No, on your back.”

She turned around, snuggled comfortably between his legs, and rested the back of her head against the pillow.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

She did, then felt his fingers brush lightly against her forehead. When he began massaging her throbbing temples, her body melted into a liquid puddle and she actually moaned out loud.

“Oh God…that feels so good,” she breathed. “Please don’t stop. Ever.”

“I can do this all night, baby,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I told you—I’ve got you.”

LATER THAT NIGHT, Rylann woke up on the couch, curled comfortably against a warm, hard body, and realized that she must have fallen asleep while Kyle was massaging her head.

He’d shifted their positions while she slept, stretching out on the couch next to her, with her head on his chest. He’d also grabbed the chenille throw blanket off the back of the couch and tucked it all around her, just up to her shoulders.

A girl could fall big-time for a guy who’d do something like that.

She lifted her head to peek at him through the darkness, the moonlight casting shadows across the strong planes of his face. Her movement must have woken him, because he stirred, inhaled deeply, then blinked in amusement when he opened his eyes and saw that she was watching him.

“How’s your headache?” he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

“Better.” Fortunately, it had mostly dissipated into a faint ache while she’d slept. “You should’ve woken me up,” she said softly. “You had such an awesome day—you should be partying right now with Dex.”

“I can go out with Dex anytime.” He reached up and ran a finger along the side of her face. His voice was a low murmur, barely more than a whisper. “I want to be here, Rylann. You know that, right?”

She knew he wasn’t only talking about tonight. “I know.” And she knew one other thing beyond any doubt. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m getting very used to having you around, Dimples.”

“Good. Because I’m taking you out tomorrow. On a real date.”

Such a simple request, and yet not so simple at all. “Kyle, I don’t—”

He cut her off. “Don’t worry. I can make sure no one finds out.” He held her gaze in the moonlight, seemingly unwilling to take no for an answer. “Say yes, Rylann.”

Maybe it was the fact that the headache had weakened her defenses. Or maybe it was just him.

Either way, with a sleepy smile, she laid her head back down on his chest. “Yes.”

RYLANN SPENT MOST of the following day reviewing the ATF investigation reports in a new case she’d just picked up—eleven guys in a suburb selling illegal firearms out of a warehouse, yes, yes, very bad stuff—while secretly trying not to wonder where Kyle planned to take her that evening. He’d been very mysterious about his plans, which seemed to be his modus operandi, the only hint being when he’d asked if she could leave work at four thirty.

“Ooh…I bet he’s whisking you off on a private jet, taking you somewhere exotic and romantic,” Rae said over the phone early that afternoon.

Rylann was in her office, talking with the door shut while eating lunch. Naturally, she’d told Rae all about her big date.

For a brief moment, it struck Rylann how surreal it was that a private jet was even a possibility. Sure, she’d seen the penthouse and the two-thousand-dollar suits, but for the most part she didn’t think about Kyle’s money. Frankly, since they’d spent the majority of their time as a couple inside her apartment, the fact that he had millions of dollars, and would one day inherit a half-billion more, hadn’t mattered all that much.

But now that she was thinking about it…

Wow, that was a shitload of money.

“I’m guessing no on the private jet,” she told Rae. “Airplane travel requires security clearances and passenger lists. We’re going incognito on this.”

“Lists, schmists,” Rae said dismissively. “Rich guys do these things on the sly all the time. You think they fly coach on United with their mistresses?”

“Hey. Am I the mistress in this situation?”

“No, just the lucky bitch who has a hot billionaire heir whisking her off someplace secret tonight. Oh, wait—did I say that out loud again?” Rae chuckled. “So what are you wearing?”

That had been a particular challenge, seeing how a certain somebody had given her zero hints about where they were going. Rylann had decided to keep it simple. “A black wraparound dress and heels. If he takes me white-water rafting or cow wrangling, I’m screwed.”

Rae laughed. “Oh, please let it be the cow wrangling! I can just see you, riding horseback in your heels and twirling a rope over your head, while on your cell phone threatening to subpoena somebody.”

“If it’s the cow wrangling, this will be my first—and last—date with Kyle Rhodes.”

“Please. One flash of those dimples and I bet that man could talk you into just about anything.”

And the scary thing was, Rylann was beginning to suspect that might actually be true.

PER THE “INSTRUCTIONS” Rylann had received via text message earlier, at four thirty she walked out the revolving door of the Federal Building, briefcase over her shoulder, and began heading north.

Her cell phone rang just as she hit the first intersection. “Okay, Dimples,” she answered. “Now what?”

Kyle’s voice was whiskey-rich in her ear. “Walk two blocks to Monroe and turn left. There’s an alley behind Italian Village—you’ll see me there.”

“Whatever this is, you get bonus points for making it very cloak-and-daggerish,” she said, dodging a pothole in her heels as she crossed the street.

“Never met an ex-con in a strange alley before, Ms. Pierce?” he teased.

Indeed, she had not. After hanging up, Rylann walked the two blocks and then crossed the street. She spotted the restaurant, Italian Village, and headed to the alley. When she turned the corner, she slowed her step at the sight before her eyes.

An elegant black limousine waited for her.

A driver stood at the rear right-side door and nodded as she approached. “Good afternoon, miss.” He gallantly opened the door for her.

“Thank you.” Rylann bent her head and saw Kyle sitting inside, wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt casually rolled up around his forearms.

He gestured to the windows. “Tinted, for privacy. And you don’t need to worry about the driver; he’s worked with my family for years. So your secret is safe.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

With a smile, Rylann took his hand. She climbed in, slid across the seat, and set her briefcase on the floor by her feet. “Come on. Now can you tell me where we’re going?” She buckled her seat belt as the limo began to move.

Kyle stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I don’t know. I like keeping you guessing like this.”

“I hope I’m at least dressed okay.”

His eyes slowly traveled over her, taking in the V of her dress and her bare, crossed legs. “A helluva lot more than okay, counselor.”

Her body went warm from the look in his eyes. “No cow wrangling, then.”

The edges of his mouth twitched. “You? I’d pay a half-billion dollars to see that.” He put his hand on her knee, caressing her skin lightly with his fingers. “So about tonight…I’ve been wondering if this is one of those ideas that sounds better in my head than it is in actual execution. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

“If that’s the case, I promise I’ll fake excitement so well you’ll never know the difference.”

“I appreciate that. Okay, here’s the deal: you probably don’t realize this, but exactly nine years ago on this very day, May 16, I spotted a certain dark-haired, sassy, first-year law student across a crowded bar. Seeing how it’s our anniversary, of sorts, I thought we should go back to the proverbial scene of the crime.”

It took Rylann a moment. “You’re taking me to Champaign?”

“Yep. I rented out the second floor of the Clybourne.” Kyle reached up and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I promised you a date when I left your apartment that night, Rylann.” His eyes held hers meaningfully. “I might be almost a decade late in delivering on that, but here we are. Finally.”

Tiny sentimental tears sprung to Rylann’s eyes.

And here he’d been worried that she’d be disappointed.

She smiled softly, then leaned forward to brush her lips over his. “It’s perfect.”

A LITTLE OVER two and a half hours later, the limo pulled to a stop in the alley behind the Clybourne. Kyle took out his cell phone and dialed. “We’re here,” he said when the voice on the other end answered.

He hung up and saw Rylann watching him with amusement.

“More with the cloak-and-dagger routine?”

“You wanted to stay off the radar.” Kyle pointed to the bar. “So here’s how this will work. Dex used to be the manager here, and knows the guy who’s now in charge. That guy is going to take us up the back employee staircase, and then we’ll have the whole second floor to ourselves.”