by Tamara Lush
“Okay, so what should we do?” What I want is for her to release her death grip from my neck, allow me to turn around, and let the bikini float away.
While I devour her in the pool.
I glance through the glass. Probably not the best idea while my entire family is on the other side of the glass door, eating key lime pie.
“Um, are you able to carry me to the changing room over there?” She points to the small, closet-like space.
“I can do that, sure.”
With her clinging to my back, I try to ignore my erection as I make my way through the waist-deep water and up the three steps. I don’t need to glance down to know that my wet bathing suit is sticking to my crotch, highlighting my erection.
Remy slides open the glass door. “You guys gonna get pie—oh! Never mind.” He scurries back inside and slides the door firmly shut.
“Ignore him,” I murmur, hoping Bella can’t see the tenting in my swim shorts. She giggles and presses her forehead into my neck. Fuck. I can feel her hot breath on my skin. Goosebumps race down my arms.
I swing open the changing room door and step in. The light’s on a motion sensor, and it blazes to life. The door is on a spring, so it slams shut behind us.
“You climb down, and I won’t look, ‘kay?” There’s a full mirror on one side of the room, and if I were to turn my head, I’d see everything. But I’m too much of a gentleman to do that.
She slides off my body slowly, and I release her legs from my hands.
“Thanks. Would you help me, please?”
I turn, and she’s holding her bikini to her chest. Which means she’s cupping her own breasts. Which means my dick is getting harder by the second.
Her dark hair is wet and slicked back, and water beads on her tan skin. The slope of her narrow shoulders, her pink lips, her bright, amber-colored eyes, render me speechless. She’s so gorgeous I can barely think straight.
I’m not sure where to stand, the space is so small. I’m also not sure what to do with my hands, because they’re practically twitching from the desire to grab Bella and haul her roughly into my chest. Into my mouth. Into my cock.
She’s so little, I’d probably snap her bones.
I allow my arms to hang limply at my sides, but I make fists with my hands, then flex my fingers wide. I do this twice. I am her attorney, remember? Just because she’s almost naked and wet and looking at me like she expects a kiss doesn’t mean I have to kiss her.
It just means I want to kiss her, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.
“Tate?” she whispers.
“Bella?” I respond, also in a whisper.
She steps forward an inch. I lean in an inch. My eyes go to the hollow of her throat, where I spy her pulse beating fast. Her hands, which are still on her breasts, brush against the bare skin of my chest. She looks up, into my eyes, and blinks slowly. Her lips part, then press together.
With a slow, teasing motion, she licks her top lip, then her bottom, and that’s when I lose all control.
Thirteen
Isabella
Tate lowers his head slowly.
My lips part in shock for a split second, but am I surprised? No, not really. I knew exactly what I was doing when I stood there, breathless, staring into his eyes.
I knew what I was doing when I clasped my palms over my breasts.
I knew what I was doing when I inched closer to him, seeking the heat of his sculpted body.
Funny thing is, I’ve never been a seductress. I’ve always been the down-to-earth girl, the reliable friend, the cute-but-never-hot woman. I’ve never had wild hookups, crazy sex, or even many boyfriends. My experience with men has been limited, mostly because I haven’t wanted to deal with the inevitable fallout from a public breakup.
The plain princess.
But something about the way Tate looks at me makes me feel anything but plain. He lights a proverbial fire inside me, and the yearning I have for him makes me ache with want. Somehow, I don’t care about what comes next. I’m not worried about whether he’ll sell our story to a tabloid.
I trust him.
Right now, as his lips are about to touch mine, my entire body sparks and flares. I’ve never felt this level of desire. Not once in my thirty years. Could there be a connection between trust and lust? I roll this around in my mind as his mouth nears mine.
“Can I? Please?” he whispers.
I nod enthusiastically, unable to utter a word because my heart’s hammering in my chest.
His lips are soft. Gentle, at first, but only for a few seconds.
The kiss turns punishing and urgent, as if he’s trying to consume me and only has a few moments left on earth. The contact between our lips is so intense that I feel it in every cell of my body. The heat between us is so scorching it’s possible the beads of pool water on our bodies could turn from cool drops to a boiling temperature any second.
He grasps my face in both of his big hands and devours my mouth. Tongues become involved, and I moan in his mouth.
Then, he stops. He doesn’t let go of my face, but he stops kissing me. The absence is unbearable. I surge forward, but he holds me in place, not allowing another kiss. Ugh. What’s going on? Why is he denying me his lips? Did I do something wrong?
Does he hate the way I kiss?
“Please?” Now I’m the one begging. “Kiss me.”
Our mouths hover against one another’s, and I feel his warm, tonic-scented breath on my skin. We’re both breathing hard.
I open my eyes and notice his dark eyelashes brushing his cheekbones. They’re so full I’m envious.
“Why are you stopping?” I murmur.
His eyelids open, and he tilts his head to the side. While staring at me with those intense, liquid chocolate-colored eyes, he slides his hands slowly down my neck. Down my shoulders, landing on my hands. I’m sure he can feel my heartbeat.
Together, we ease my bikini top away from my body, and our arms slowly fall to our sides. His gaze lowers to my breasts, and I tremble a little because he’s staring. My nipples are hard, pinkish-brown peaks. The skin surrounding them is covered in goosebumps.
I’m panting in anticipation of his touch.
“Goddamn it, Bella,” he growls, running both his hands through his hair and moving back a half step.
I blink a few times, and my eyes land on his erection that’s evident in his wet swimsuit. My mouth literally waters, and I focus on his stomach and six-pack abs. I imagine kissing those abs. Oof. Maybe I should stare at his face instead because it’s too inappropriate to gape at his body. When my eyes focus on his forehead, I notice his brows are knit together in a scowl.
“Tate? You look angry.”
He comes at me again, his mouth crashing against mine. This kiss is deeper, longer, hotter. I wrap my arms around his neck, reveling in the pleasurable sensation of my bare chest sliding against his, the water on our bodies now turning to sweat.
Our skin’s the same temperature. Which is approximately the same as the surface of the sun.
He lets out a soft groan when I rub my breasts against the hard wall of his chest.
“What are you doing to me?” His voice is rough, desperate.
“I love the way you kiss,” I whisper in response against his lips.
He dips his head, staring at my breasts, then cups them with his large hands. He takes a huge inhale. I stop breathing as his thumbs caress my nipples.
I’m dimly aware that the door’s probably not locked, that his family is in the other house, that at any point, someone could bust into this changing room next to the pool and catch us. His family seems nice and all, but people do weird things around royalty. One of them could snap a photo of us and send it to the tabloids within seconds.
And I’d be topless. Powerless. Dignity-less. (Is that a word?)
But you know what? I don’t care. Not even a little. Because the feeling of Tate’s hands on my skin is too amazing. I’m willing to risk ever
ything for this experience. His slow caress of my breasts is making me wet, and I need him right now.
He cuts me off mid-gasp with another devastating smooch.
Within a few seconds, he’s hauling me up against his big body and simultaneously sitting on the bench that’s up against one wall. I straddle him, and things get fierce.
All the pent-up lust of the past few days pours out. I grind against him, hands in his hair, pulling. He’s squeezing my breast with one hand, my ass with another, and I’m biting his bottom lip. He lets out another growl, and I moan. Never have I acted like this with a man. I’m in some sort of sex frenzy.
Then I catch myself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be so forward.”
He clasps my face in his hands and puts his forehead to mine. He moves his head back and forth, as if he’s trying to talk himself, and me, out of this.
“This is wrong.”
I scowl. “Why?”
“I’m your attorney. I can’t do this. It’s unethical.”
“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”
He lifts his head and looks at me like I’m crazy. “Of course I want to. Don’t you feel this?”
He places his hands on my hips and rocks me back and forth on his hard length. Slow. I let my head fall back, captivated by the rhythm and the feeling of the bikini bottom fabric rubbing against my clit. I’m getting wetter by the second.
“You like that?” he asks in a whisper. “Does that feel good?”
“Oh God, yes,” I murmur, my jaw dropping at the realization that he’s not only extremely hard, but quite big in that department, too. “Oh my. Oh wow.”
He stops moving my hips, and I huff in protest.
“Yeah. Wow is right. My dick is rock solid, and I’m ready to be inside of you right here, right now. Even though my family’s in the living room and there’s no lock on this door.”
I pause. “I should be scandalized by that information, but my first thought is, yes, please.”
He rests his head on my shoulder, his body quaking from laughter. Giggles erupt in my chest, then escape my mouth. We’re now hanging onto each other tight, chortling.
I lean back to hoot a laugh, and his chuckles fade. His hands caress my breasts, and I allow my eyes to flutter shut.
“Why is this so bad? So what if you’re my attorney? This feels so good.”
He sighs and continues to roll my nipples in between his fingers. “I could get into a lot of trouble if anyone found out.”
“I’m not going to tell.” I open my eyes, and our gazes lock.
“The Florida Bar says an attorney cannot engage in sexual conduct with a client that exploits or adversely affects the interests of the client or the lawyer-client relationship.”
I stare at him, my eyes narrowing. “But if you’re going to hand my case to another attorney, who cares?”
“I did some research yesterday when I was at the office.”
“You researched whether you could sleep with me?”
Grinning, he nods. “Sort of.”
His palms circle my breasts, and then he shudders, shaking his head and lifting his hands from my skin. “A ruling was handed down in Florida Bar v. Bryant.”
I flutter kisses over his cheek, making sure I brush my nipple against his chest. “What were the circumstances in that case?”
He clears his throat. “Two strippers paid an attorney with sex.”
“Councilor, I’m not paying you with sex. I’ll gladly pay you cash for your legal services and give you the sex for free.”
When he laughs, it’s as if his entire body is rippling with happiness.
“Sorry. You apparently bring out the wanton wild woman in me.”
“No, I’m quite enjoying that part of you and your teasing. It’s like torture. But I love it.”
“I admire you for being so ethical. But under the circumstances, do you have to be quite this ethical?”
His hands go to my hair, which is probably a tangled, wet nest. He smooths it back.
“Bella, what am I going to do with you?”
“Tell your family to leave and take me to bed?” I blurt.
His smile is so wolfish yet sweet that I can’t help but grin. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Not right now. Even if my family wasn’t here, I couldn’t.”
I scrunch my eyes shut. As sexually frustrated as I am, I also admire that Tate’s sticking to his principles. That tells me more about him as a man than almost anything else he’s done so far.
“I understand. And it’s okay. Still, figures the first time I’ve been truly forward with a man, he rejects me.”
Tate wraps his muscular arms around me, and I melt into his body. He speaks low, into my ear, and my entire body shimmers. “This isn’t a rejection, babe. It’s a pause, okay? Until you formally get another attorney. Because trust me, I want you just as bad. So the minute I’m not your attorney, I’m taking you to bed.”
Fourteen
Isabella
“Isn’t there a back door, or a secret VIP entrance, or something?” I warily eye the peach-colored stucco façade of the courthouse, a sprawling Mediterranean Revival building with a terra-cotta tile roof.
Tate chuckles and slides his gaze to me. He flips a blinker and slows to turn into a parking lot across from the courthouse. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve shown your royal privilege.”
I scowl and scoot down in my seat. “Is there a special entrance for us? What if some famous politician were arrested? Or Angelina Jolie? Surely she wouldn’t have to use the front entrance.”
“No. There isn’t a special entrance. We have to walk in like everyone else. So would Angelina Jolie. And I don’t think I’ve ever represented a client who’s asked to go into the VIP entrance of the courthouse.”
“Yeah, well, your other clients didn’t have to face the tabloids. Didn’t you say you’ve never argued a case in criminal court? Angelina Jolie would understand if she was falsely arrested for attacking an alligator.” I brush a few strands of Chunky’s fur off my black dress. I tap my chest with my index finger. “You’re dealing with a felon here, mister.”
Tate pulls into a parking space next to a squat palm tree. “Babe. We drove past the building three times and didn’t see any media trucks or photographers. Maybe those two guys the other night weren’t paparazzo.”
“Paparazzi. Plural.” I glance at him. He shaved off the stubble this morning, so his skin is soft-looking, and his jawline has a masculine, sharp edge. I had to stop myself from reaching over the console and touching him at least five times on the drive here.
“Whatever. Maybe they were tourists or nature photographers.”
“I highly doubt it.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Why don’t you believe me?”
He sighs and takes my hand and rubs my knuckles with his thumb. “I do believe you. But you have to be brave. We can’t get out of this court hearing today. We’re going to hope for the best and fight. If the media shows up, it’s no biggie.”
Yeah, right. He’s never been in the middle of a scrum. Never been the target of the cameras. He has no idea how relentless they are or how vulnerable it makes one feel.
I square my shoulders. “Fine. Let’s do this. Are you sure I can’t directly tell the judge what happened? Wouldn’t that speed the process along? If only we could just sit together over tea, I’m sure we could work it all out. This is all so absurd.”
Again, Tate laughs. If he weren’t so handsome, I’d be annoyed. But part of the reason I’m so anxious to get this afternoon over is so we can return to his house and finish what we’d started the previous day.
That’s what he’s done to me. Turned me into a wanton, lusty creature who thinks about sex in the face of a dire situation. Even now, I want to stroke him like a bunny because he looks so delicious in that midnight blue suit and scarlet-hued tie.
I squeeze his fingers, and he continues laughing.
Last night after his family left was excruciating. We tried to watch a tel
evision program. He’d sat in a chair, and I was ten feet away on the sofa, but the sexual pull was too strong. Just looking at him and remembering his huge hands on my breasts gave me screaming thigh sweats.
All I’d wanted was to crawl on his lap and kiss him. Which I knew was inappropriate, because he’d been so firm in his boundaries. I’d gone silent and probably came off as brooding and petulant.
Finally, I gave up, went into the bedroom with Chunky, and read a book. Unfortunately, all I’d brought on my e-reader was erotic romance, which made me hornier and edgier than before.
This is all contributing to my foul mood this afternoon. I scowl in his direction and let go of his hand. Reaching for my purse, I search for a mint, and offer one to Tate. He opens his mouth, and I set it on his tongue. I pop one into my mouth and chew it within seconds.
“What? Are you laughing at me?”
“Babe, you’re the best. No, I’m not laughing at you. And yes, it probably would be better if we could sit together over tea. But that’s not how the American legal system works.”
With a grunt, I let myself out of the SUV, my high heels striking the asphalt. As we walk, he dons a pair of Ray Bans and grins. I can no longer fight back a smile and smooth an invisible wrinkle at the hem of my sheath dress. Openly check him out, studying his smooth, sharp jaw.
“You like the clean shaven me better?”
We pause at the pedestrian crosswalk across the street from the courthouse. There are no visible media people anywhere in sight, thank God. “I’m not sure. I can’t decide. Both have immense positives.”
“I figured it would be more professional for the court hearing. And it will be more comfortable for you later on. You know, against your skin and everything. I didn’t want you to get beard burn on your chin or neck…or inner thighs.” He jabs the crossing button and chuckles low.
Oh, dear. The thought of his smooth face against any of those places sends a sharp, searing heat through me. I fan myself with the folder I’m carrying.
