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Authors: Magda Alexander
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someone before. But now, with him?
It’s different.
I rest my head against his broad chest. His heartbeat jumps beneath my cheek for barely a second before he pushes me away.
CHAPTER 9
Trenton
After a strong sense of self-preservation makes me push her away, she apologizes and runs into the bathroom. She emerges several minutes later fully dressed, her buttoned-up blouse tucked into her skirt, and crawls into that sorry excuse of a bed. By that point, I’d exchanged the wet briefs for my slacks and climbed onto the couch.
Since then we haven’t exchanged a single word. I’m too busy ignoring the effect her squirming body had on my cock. Judging by her mad dash to the bathroom, I probably shocked the hell out of her.
“So what did you think about Willie?” Not exactly pillow talk, but I can’t sleep and, going by her constant twisting and turning on the bed, neither can she.
Dead silence from her end before she pipes up with, “You don’t really expect me to answer that question, do you?”
I choke back a laugh. “I meant our client, Willie Vaughn.”
“Oh.” Picturing her blush, I’m tempted to crawl into that bed, undress her, and see how far the flush spreads. Probably down to her glorious breasts. Not that I can see anything. The damn lights are still out. But that doesn’t stop me from remembering how her breasts drilled into my chest when she pressed against me. I want to see them, taste them, lick them, and then I want to pound my body into hers. But that’s not happening. Not if I want to remain a partner at her grandfather’s law firm.
Flashes of lightning burst through the venetian blinds, temporarily illuminating her. Pansy-blue eyes, pouty lips. Beautiful enough to make a saint weep. She smacks her pillow and drops back her head before answering me. “I think you have grounds for a new trial. At the very least the police violated the Fifth Amendment, not to mention the Fourth. Did they have a warrant to search his van?”
“No.”
“Well, there you go. He was living in that van. So they needed a warrant, and he should have been read his Miranda rights.”
“I agree. Odd that the cops screwed up so badly. They weren’t rookies. Between them, they had twenty years’ experience on the force.”
“Certainly not the first time that’s occurred. Common law is filled with cases where the cops failed to follow the law.”
A ghost of a smile curls my lips. “Yes, I know. I’ve argued denial of Fifth Amendment rights to have charges dismissed for several of my clients.”
She snorts. Even in the dark I can tell she doesn’t think much of my methods.
“That bothers you.”
“How can you defend such dirtbags?”
Not this again. “Under the Constitution, everyone’s entitled to a defense. And my clients pay very well for me to represent them.”
She sits up and glares at me. “So that’s what it’s about? Money?”
Not the first time that accusation has been leveled at me. Usually I ignore it, but coming from her, it rankles. “That money , Ms. Berkeley, allows us to represent pro bono clients who’ve been wrongfully convicted, such as Willie.”
She doesn’t have a comeback and flops back down. For a few moments, silence fills the gloom.
“I’m freezing.”
No wonder. The room temperature’s dropped. And it won’t do any good to fiddle with the heating unit. The power failure has knocked that out as well. “Here.” As I rise to give her my threadbare blanket, the window above me crashes open. Rain, wind, fucking hail pour in. “Son of a bitch.” I jump off the couch to batten down the hatch. Finally, after interminable minutes, I manage to do so. In the semigloom, I search the room, trying to divine some way to secure the latch. Inspiration hits where least expected. “Is there a Bible in that night table?”
She opens the drawer. “Yes. What are you planning to do? Pray for salvation?”
I grunt. “Can the smart ass. Just bring it over here.”
When
It’s different.
I rest my head against his broad chest. His heartbeat jumps beneath my cheek for barely a second before he pushes me away.
CHAPTER 9
Trenton
After a strong sense of self-preservation makes me push her away, she apologizes and runs into the bathroom. She emerges several minutes later fully dressed, her buttoned-up blouse tucked into her skirt, and crawls into that sorry excuse of a bed. By that point, I’d exchanged the wet briefs for my slacks and climbed onto the couch.
Since then we haven’t exchanged a single word. I’m too busy ignoring the effect her squirming body had on my cock. Judging by her mad dash to the bathroom, I probably shocked the hell out of her.
“So what did you think about Willie?” Not exactly pillow talk, but I can’t sleep and, going by her constant twisting and turning on the bed, neither can she.
Dead silence from her end before she pipes up with, “You don’t really expect me to answer that question, do you?”
I choke back a laugh. “I meant our client, Willie Vaughn.”
“Oh.” Picturing her blush, I’m tempted to crawl into that bed, undress her, and see how far the flush spreads. Probably down to her glorious breasts. Not that I can see anything. The damn lights are still out. But that doesn’t stop me from remembering how her breasts drilled into my chest when she pressed against me. I want to see them, taste them, lick them, and then I want to pound my body into hers. But that’s not happening. Not if I want to remain a partner at her grandfather’s law firm.
Flashes of lightning burst through the venetian blinds, temporarily illuminating her. Pansy-blue eyes, pouty lips. Beautiful enough to make a saint weep. She smacks her pillow and drops back her head before answering me. “I think you have grounds for a new trial. At the very least the police violated the Fifth Amendment, not to mention the Fourth. Did they have a warrant to search his van?”
“No.”
“Well, there you go. He was living in that van. So they needed a warrant, and he should have been read his Miranda rights.”
“I agree. Odd that the cops screwed up so badly. They weren’t rookies. Between them, they had twenty years’ experience on the force.”
“Certainly not the first time that’s occurred. Common law is filled with cases where the cops failed to follow the law.”
A ghost of a smile curls my lips. “Yes, I know. I’ve argued denial of Fifth Amendment rights to have charges dismissed for several of my clients.”
She snorts. Even in the dark I can tell she doesn’t think much of my methods.
“That bothers you.”
“How can you defend such dirtbags?”
Not this again. “Under the Constitution, everyone’s entitled to a defense. And my clients pay very well for me to represent them.”
She sits up and glares at me. “So that’s what it’s about? Money?”
Not the first time that accusation has been leveled at me. Usually I ignore it, but coming from her, it rankles. “That money , Ms. Berkeley, allows us to represent pro bono clients who’ve been wrongfully convicted, such as Willie.”
She doesn’t have a comeback and flops back down. For a few moments, silence fills the gloom.
“I’m freezing.”
No wonder. The room temperature’s dropped. And it won’t do any good to fiddle with the heating unit. The power failure has knocked that out as well. “Here.” As I rise to give her my threadbare blanket, the window above me crashes open. Rain, wind, fucking hail pour in. “Son of a bitch.” I jump off the couch to batten down the hatch. Finally, after interminable minutes, I manage to do so. In the semigloom, I search the room, trying to divine some way to secure the latch. Inspiration hits where least expected. “Is there a Bible in that night table?”
She opens the drawer. “Yes. What are you planning to do? Pray for salvation?”
I grunt. “Can the smart ass. Just bring it over here.”
When
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