Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
PART TWO
Two Years Later…
Chapter forty-one
Cat
Day one: The day before the second biggest trial of the century…
No matter how many times I wake in my husband’s arms as I do now, it never gets old. Reese is mine. Yeah. Never gets old. Today though there will be no lingering and making love as we do so many mornings. He’s starting what could be the second biggest trial of his career, on edge, and overworked, and the minute the alarm goes off, I expect him to jump out of bed. He doesn’t. He wraps his arm around me right along with all those sinewy muscles, and his lips press to my ear. “How about a morning fuck for luck?” he murmurs, his hands sliding over my belly, cupping my breast, and teasing my nipple.
“Your luck or mine?” I murmur, covering his hand where it’s pressed to my breast. “Because it feels like mine.”
He slips his cock along my now slick sex and presses inside me. “Mine,” he says. “The luck and you.”
I bite my lip at that possessive, sexy comment that I would have pushed back on long ago, but not now. Now I am his and I like it. He presses into me again and I arch against his hand squeezing my breast, and the hard length of him buried inside me. There is this raw burn between us, his raw need, that edge in him he gets right before a case, and even before it happens, I know it’s coming. I’m flat on my stomach and he’s driving into me, hard and fast, intense. He’s intense. It consumes me. He consumes me and I lose myself in every drive, pump, and touch. I don’t know where he begins and I end, and somehow we’re in that shuddering, over the edge, sweet spot together, his low guttural moan so hot, I’m clenching tighter. He stills on top of me and then rolls to his side, taking me with him.
“I will never start a trial without doing that, ever again,” he murmurs near my ear.
“Today is not your trial day.”
“Today is practice for tomorrow.” He kisses my neck. “I love the hell out of you, woman. You know that, right?” He doesn’t give me time to respond. He moves and in a blink he’s carrying me to the shower with him.
Half an hour later, Reese is dressed in a gray suit with a blue pinstripe and a blue shirt to match, looking all tall, dark, and handsome, while my hair is still wet and I’m just finishing my make up. He approaches from behind and I turn to face him. “I hate to tell you this,” I say, “but you’re living up to the Mr. Hotness blogs right now.”
He groans and pulls me to him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just taunt me with that. Every fucking time I go to trial it starts again.”
“It’s the burden of being so hot.”
“Stop, woman, or I will find a way to punish you.”
I laugh, but he’s moved on, focused on his case. I see it in his eyes even before his jaw clenches and his fingers flex on my hips. “Come to the office today. I need you to work with me on my opening statement.”
“It’s brilliant. You know that.”
“It’ll be better with practice. Write your ‘Cat Does Crime’ column and come to the office when you’re done.”
My hand settles on his chest. “I will,” I promise. “Of course I will, but not because you really need practice. My column is going to take a while though. Everyone will be watching it for shades of you and this trial. A young, beautiful woman accused of killing her wealthy father to inherit his money plays like a movie and you’re the leading man.”
“And my client is the innocent victim made out to be a villain. Are you going to go for it and write about her?”
“Yes. I am. Though I can’t tell you what will end up on the paper. I’m just going to wing it.”
“That makes for some of your most compelling work.” His cellphone rings and he snakes it from his pocket, and answers it, without letting go of me completely.
“Yeah Royce,” he says, Royce being the owner of the security firm he uses often for his cases and for the firm’s activities. “Right. Thanks for the head’s up.” He disconnects and sticks his phone back in his pocket. “Picketers at the office and I don’t want you to have to deal with that mess. I’ll bring the team here to you late this afternoon.”
“I don’t mind. You know that.”
“I know, but I want to be home.” He kisses me. “I’m going to take off. I’ll see you back here as soon as possible.” He heads for the door, all loose-legged swagger and perfection and I sigh. He’s mine. “I’m going to keep you!” I call out.