Risking Ruin Page 13

  “Yeah,” said Trip, surprised by her question.

  He might have well said “duh.” Now I feel stupid. Even if George hadn’t seen our shenanigans in the car, picking up a bed-tousled Trip this morning certainly clued him in. Marisa racked her brain trying to remember if George had ever picked her up or dropped her off at home. She couldn’t recall that happening. She’d done the walk of shame home from that night at Trip’s and since then, Trip had driven. Whew. George doesn’t know where I live. He doesn’t know it’s me. Then it hit her. Hard. Her mood darkened and she began to feel panicky. When she and Trip had driven by her building on the way to his house that night, she’d made a fuss about George driving past her place, not realizing they were headed to Trip’s instead. Oh, fuck me. George knows. Or even if he doesn’t, then it’s only going to take the slightest clue for him to figure it out and then he’ll tell Jimmy and then I’ll get fired as Branco’s lawyer and then my law partners will find out and I’ll be out on the street . . .

  “Hey, Marisa. Come back to me,” said Trip.

  Marisa turned from the passenger window to face him. “Where’d you go?,” asked Trip.

  “Just thinking about the thousands of reasons this is a really bad idea.”

  “You aren’t thinking straight. You need some food.”

  “I am thinking straight.”

  “I’m not going to talk about this with you anymore until you’ve got food in your belly,” he said with finality. “Anyway, food is a mere minutes away. Just hold that thought.” Trip turned into a parking spot and cut the car’s engine. “Let’s go get you fed.”

  They walked across the street to Earnestine and Hazel’s. He’s brought me to a dive bar for burgers? Ever the gentleman, Trip heaved open the beat up old blue metal and glass door. The smell of stale beer and grilled burgers rushed toward Marisa. Soul music wafted out with the aromas. Guess this dress is headed to the cleaners first thing in the morning.

  “Yeah, I know you’re probably thinking ‘Earnestine and Hazel’s on a Monday at six?’ But their burgers are a guilty pleasure of mine and I thought I’d indulge in two such guilty pleasures at once. Plus, it’s not exactly party hour now, so it’s as quiet as this place gets. I thought it would be easy to snag a table and talk or not talk or whatever you’re up for without too many eyes being around.”

  Okay, well this makes sense now. It’s not like we can to go to Restaurant Iris or Folk’s Folly on a Monday night without probably running into someone one of us knows. Most likely someone he knows or who knows him, but either way, it might lead to gossip. So, we get to skulk around town at dive bars until he’s tired of me? Excellent decision making, Marisa. Maybe Erica’s right and I should try Match.com.

  Trip led them to a small heavily scarred wooden table with simple bent wood chairs that had seen much better days. They sat. When the waitress arrived at the table, Trip ordered a Ghost River Ale. Marisa desperately wanted a beer, too, but she stuck with water. They both ordered burgers and potato chips – two of the approximately four food items on the bar’s menu. No more drinking around him. I can’t control myself.

  Trip kept the conversation minimal until the food arrived, which was fine by Marisa. She filled the void by letting her eyes wander around the walls. Graffiti, peeling paint, fractured plaster walls, exposed brick, and a massive old jukebox. Marisa had never been in the bar during daylight hours and, truth be known, she wasn’t sure she’d been there sober either. She took a bite of her burger and ate a few chips, still immersed entirely in her own head. A few minutes later she felt better. She placed her burger in the basket lined with waxed paper and looked up at Trip.

  “Sorry I was a grouch. You were right. I’d missed lunch and was starving.”

  Trip opened his mouth, popped in a potato chip, closed his mouth, and smugly grinned. He quickly chewed and swallowed. “And I bet you didn’t have the most nutritious breakfast either.”

  “It was certainly delicious, but you’re right. I usually have granola and yogurt with my coffee instead of pecan pie.”

  “Duly noted. Please, keep eating,” he said, waving his hand toward the burger basket.

  Marisa finished her dinner and dropped a few crumpled paper napkins into the basket.

  “All better now?,” Trip asked.

  “Yes. Thank you. Okay, let’s get down to business. You asked how we found out about the divorce support group. We’d done background checks on the plaintiffs as usual and discovered they were all divorced. As I told you and your dad earlier, that’s nothing to set of any alarm bells, but it was curious that they were all involved in divorces in the past year or so.

  “Then Jane, my assistant, remembered one of the women testified in her deposition that was in a support group at a church in East Memphis. Jane also piece together that two of the other women testified they went to a divorce support group, but didn’t provide any more detail. Jane got curious and decided to go to the support group on Saturday afternoon. She posed as a divorcée named ‘June’ and recognized a few other names of the plaintiffs. She says it’s like AA, so it was first names only, but again, the level of coincidence to be in a support group with many of the members having the same names of the other plaintiffs is too much to be simply coincidence in my opinion. We’ll know more once Vanessa gets involved, but it’s really intriguing.”

  “What does this mean? Are they conspiring against Branco? Why would they do that?”

  Marisa looked away from Trip. She felt her resolve softening yet again. It was so easy to talk with him. He just felt comfortable, except when she looked at him and his good looks sent her hormones surging.

  “I don’t know. It could be some payback for some perceived slight by Branco or someone at Branco. It’s really weird. They all have different attorneys, so it would really blow my mind if their attorneys were somehow involved. Too many people don’t typically make a good conspiracy – someone talks.”

  Marisa grew quiet and looked up at the ceiling, puzzling the oddness of members of a divorcée support group deciding to sue Branco. As Marisa drifted off in thought, Trip pulled her back.

  “Now that the business portion of the evening is over, is your friend sweater still going to hang around?”

  Marisa’s eyes fell back on Trip who was rakishly waggling his eyebrows at her. She blushed and shook her head, forcing back a giggle. He’s too much.

  “Trip,” Marisa began.

  “Don’t. I know that tone. Please don’t,” he pleaded. “Can we just enjoy this? When I said no sex, I meant it. We can have even less no sex that we did last night.” At the mention of last night, Marisa’s blood pressure rose and she grew warm all over.

  “We’ll play this how you want, but please don’t pull the plug just yet,” he said, reaching across the table and covering her left hand his with his right. His fingertips traced the bracelet he had given her. Marisa was surprised Trip had accurately anticipated the course of her thoughts.

  “Trip, I’m just confused.” She fumbled for words but found none. Her mind was such a muddle when it came to this man that she couldn’t figure out which direction was up much less which direction she should be heading.

  “Just a little time. We’ll figure it out. Just a little time, please.”

  “I’m just worried that I won’t be able to do it.”

  “Won’t be able to do what, Marisa?,” he asked intently.

  Marisa sighed. In a span of a second she decided to be honest with herself and Trip. “Won’t be able to do the no-sex thing. And even if we can successfully not have sex, that can’t last forever. Plus, I’m absolutely terrified that your dad or someone else will find out. I think that George knows.”

  Trip harrumphed and sandwiched Marisa’s left hand between both of his powerful hands. “George does his job well. He’s been with my family for years. He taught me how to drive when I was home from Andover on breaks. He’s kept secrets for me that are much significant than me liking a lovely woman. That is a non-issue an
d a lame excuse to end this before we really get started.”

  “We’ve covered this ground as to why we shouldn’t be involved. That is a real issue.”

  “I know and we’ve pieced together a solution for now. Let’s give it time. Give us time.”

  Marisa drew breath in. Us? He said us? She could only nod in response.

  “And I promise that I won’t kiss you at work again. That was reckless of me. I’ll be more circumspect. But you have to promise me that you won’t turn up in my office in those shoes and that dress again. You’re just too tempting.”

  The gentle pressure of his hands encasing her hand touched her deeply and she felt treasured. I like him. I like him more than anyone I’ve met since Paul. Hell, maybe I like him more than I ever liked Paul. I don’t know. The only thing I know is that it feels so good being with him. Oh, what the hell. She tingled with anticipation of what would come next and how Trip would react. Using her right hand, she reached up and began single-handedly unbuttoning her cardigan.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “You are such a vixen, Marisa,” said Trip, laughing and shaking his head. His laugh made her laugh. Vixen? Me? He’s nuts. “You ready to get out of here?”

  “Sure,” replied Marisa, relishing Trip’s hands capture of hers and not wanting him to let loose of her.

  Trip stood and without releasing Marisa from his grasp, helped her up from her chair and escorted her to his silver Mercedes.

  “Mind if we drop the top and drive for a bit? The sunset looks like it will be pretty tonight.”

  “Sounds fine, but if I get chilly, my friend the sweater might come back out to play.”

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” said Trip, pressing a button. The hard roof folded like origami into the trunk with such fluidity that Marisa was amazed.

  “That’s really cool,” she said in appreciation.

  “If you like cars, you should see some of my others.”

  “You have other cars?,” asked Marisa. She only recalled this convertible in his garage that was so filled with bicycles that even the small car barely fit.

  “Yeah, I do. I am a guy. I keep them garaged just across the Mississippi state line outside Southaven. I’ll take you some time if you like.”

  Marisa cozied into the leather bucket seat, and they drove across the Mississippi River as the sun set. The river that was normally brown glowed red and orange, reflecting the sky. Trip’s hand reclaimed Marisa’s and he drove, their hair whipping in the wind with the last trace of summer fading around them.

  Marisa wasn’t sure what state they were in. They could be in Kentucky, Arkansas, Mississippi, Missouri or half way to Nashville. It didn’t matter. She was relaxed and happy. The wind howled and drowned out all possible conversation. The world was comprised of the two of them alone. The stars had come out. The moon was new. She rested her head on the headrest and stared up at the stars. With her sense of sound obliterated by the road noise and her sense of touch dominated by Trip’s hand and the firm rumble of the car’s engine, the night sky felt richer than she’d ever noticed. She felt tiny and insignificant but at the same time very alive and a part of the world.

  Trip’s hand left hers. Before she could process the loss, he returned his hand to her upper thigh and rested it there. Marisa exhaled, happy to be back in contact with Trip’s body. His fingers pushed apart the wrap dress and the feel of Trip’s hand on her skin thrilled Marisa. Her comfort around him quickly converted to desire. She slightly arched her back in response. Trip gripped her thigh for a moment and Marisa began to tingle. She wanted his hands all over her. She wanted to be naked for him.

  She lifted her head from the headrest and looked at Trip. All she could see was his profile, illuminated by the glow from the gauges on the car’s dash as they sped down a darkened two lane highway. As she studied him with appreciation, he turned to her. Over the buffeting wind he shouted, “You okay?”

  Marisa nodded languidly. She couldn’t recall ever being this comfortable with a man.

  “Great,” yelled Trip. “Just enjoy.”

  Marisa relaxed back into her leather seat and resumed contemplating the stars and Trip’s hand on her skin. Trip moved his hand to her groin, covering her panties. He pressed his hand into her gently but firmly, and her entire body lit up. Marisa gasped and spread her legs in reflex. His hand moved farther down, covering all of her most sensitive areas. He gently yet firmly pressed again. Marisa’s back arched in reply and her panties dampened. He tapped his fingers in a rolling motion across the taught fabric that stretched across her labia and shielded her clit. Desire like she had never felt pulsed within her and pushed to the surface. She rolled her hips in appreciation. Her heart pounded and she began to pant as Trip continued to speak directly to her craving in his own Morse code. Her body began to tighten and quiver in response to his attention. Thought had left her head. She was filled only with need for him.

  Marisa brushed back the rest of the skirt of her wrap dress, grabbed her panties, and shoved them to her knees, momentarily dislodging Trip’s hand. As she kicked her panties to the floorboard, Trip’s hand returned to her body. He parted her folds and stroked her full length with his middle finger. When his wet finger met with her clit, a strangled moan escaped from deep within her. He stroked and pulsed and paused, making her toes curl. She wanted more of him.

  Marisa kicked off her stilettos and placed her feet on the dashboard. She dropped her knees to the sides and reclined the seat, granting him full access and permitting the night sky to shine down on her spread and open body. In her modified butterfly pose, her eyes shifted between the sky and Trip’s hand. She felt desired and alive. She forced herself to look at the stars while Trip plunged into her before resuming attention on her clit. She shivered and then shook and bucked, Trip’s hand never failing despite her knees now being firmly pressed together. She howled and groaned and wanted nothing more than to hold him in her mouth. The night sky fell out of her vision and the world went momentarily dark. She was heady and exhilarated. She lacked bones in her body. Her muscles were useless.

  Trip released his grip and cupped her, revisiting the firm but gentle pressure that he had earlier employed. As her pulse slowed and shallow breaths gave way to deep cleansing ones, Trip removed his hand and placed it back on her thigh. Marisa stared up at the stars and grinned from ear to ear. She looked over to him. Even from her reclined pose, she could see that his cheeks were gathered in a smile. Marisa rose to a sitting position and tucked her feet under her bottom. She wrapped her dress around her legs in a vain attempt to trap the orgasm’s glow near her.

  Marisa swiveled to Trip and kissed him on the cheek. She took his earlobe between her teeth and gave a teasing tug. Her hand sought the zipper to his crisp suit pants. “Marisa,” he said, taking his foot off the accelerator. The noise from the wind and the car’s engine plummeted. “I’d love to, but I need to get you home safely,” he intoned in a strong and soothing voice. He took her hand in his and rubbed circles in her palm with his thumb. “Truly. Just relax,” he instructed as the car picked up speed.

  Marisa rocked back into her seat, wholly disappointed, but understanding of his sensible request. She moved the seat back to an upright position and sighed deeply, her eyes returning to take in the stars. His hand found its place on her thigh and they continued to drive.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “So, you’re not coming up?,” said Marisa in disbelief. What went wrong? Did I do something wrong?

  Trip’s car sat at the curb outside of Marisa’s condo building. Trip shook his head.

  “Look, I don’t want to fight about this. But I got no sleep last night and if I come up we’ll end up doing something we agreed that we wouldn’t do or I’ll be up all night thinking about what I’d rather be doing with you.”

  So, you’re going go home, jerk off, and fall asleep in front of the TV?, Marisa imagined herself saying. Instead she sighed. “You’re right. I know that. It’s not lik
e I slept well last night either. Tonight’s been great. Completely unexpected.”

  Trip grinned and shook his head. “I fly out tomorrow morning pretty early for Tampa. I’ll be down there until Tuesday. Can I see you when I get back?”

  “Well, I’m sure we’ll have the PI’s report by Tuesday. Should I call your assistant and set up a time for us to go over it?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Are you asking me out on a date, Trip?”

  “After tonight you’re making me work for it? You really are going to ruin me.”

  “Indubitably,” replied Marisa with a smile and a wink, as she turned on her heel and nearly sashayed into the lobby.

  “Marisa!,” he called, leaning across the car’s console. “Marisa! Thursday dinner?”

  “I can do that.”

  Marisa dialed Erica’s number as soon as the elevator doors opened on her floor. I’ve got another date with Trip. In a week! A freaking week.

  “Hey, Marisa. What’s up?”

  “Am I calling too late?”

  “No, it’s just now ten.”

  “Is it only ten? I thought it would be later. It feels later”

  “So, where have you been with Mr. Hottie Client? It’s not like you to lose track of time like this.”

  “We had a work meeting that turned into dinner that turned into a long drive.”

  “Oh, where did he take you? Houston’s?”

  “You won’t believe it, but we had burgers at Earnestine and Hazel’s. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been in there sober.”

  “Mr. Fancy Pants Brannon took you to that dive? What is wrong with him?”

  “Actually, it was a good call. I didn’t have much breakfast, skipped lunch, and was starving. And it’s not like either of us want to be broadcasting our relationship to the world. Earnestine and Hazel’s may not be gourmet, but it has fast service and I’ll tell you this -- around six in the evening it is a ghost town.”

  “As long as he’s being nice.”