“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.”