“Oh, you’re definitely going to need a lawyer,” Marcel said. “At a minimum, you’re looking at charges of trespass, vandalism, destruction of private property, invasion of privacy, harassment, being a peeping Tom and probably stalking too. That’s at least ten years in prison.”
“Naw, man.” Grimes shook his head. “I’d say fifteen years easy.”
“But if you’re straight with us,” Marcel continued, “we may be able to help you out of your predicament. It’s obvious that Camille used you.”
Grimes’ phone buzzed and he took it out of his shirt pocket. “Hold on. I just got a text.” He grinned up at Robinson. “So you have a criminal record, huh? And it appears you’re still on probation. I suspect your firm doesn’t know that.”
Robinson slumped back to his chair.
Marcel could tell they’d finally broken him down. “I want to know how you got that picture and everything you know about the things either you or Camille did to Judge Sharla Ratliff.”
“Okay, fine.” Robinson’s voice cracked with distress. “I’ll tell you everything. But I don’t know this Camille woman you keep bringing up. I swear I don’t.”
Chapter 43
Sharla
Sharla walked out of her meeting with Judge White fighting the urge to shake both fists in the air and run a victory lap around the courthouse.
She headed straight for her car, thinking of nothing except treating herself to a relaxing evening at home with some Mary J. Blige, a glass of wine, and a long bubble bath.
After calling to thank Reese, Sharla wanted to share her good news with Marcel. When she dialed his office, she got a shocker.
“Mr. Dennard is no longer associated with Sherman & Finnegan, LLP,” the receptionist told her.
“As of when?”
“I’m sorry,” the woman replied, “I’m not authorized to disclose that information.”
Sharla hung up, stunned. She’d been so worried about her own career, she hadn’t given any consideration to what Marcel might be going through. Unlike her, he had lost his job because of their relationship. And for that she was devastated.
Two calls to his cell phone went straight to voicemail. Her text message also went unanswered. She was almost home when she decided to head in a different direction.
It was another thirty minutes before the phone rang and Marcel’s name appeared on her navigation screen.
“I called your firm and they said you no longer work there,” she blurted out.
“Yep. But don’t trip.” He sounded completely serene. “I’m cool with it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Probably travel a bit. I’ve already spoken to one of my law school classmates about joining his solo practice. I could even go in-house with one of my clients. I have options.”
“I was so worried. I’m glad you’re taking it so well.”
“What about you? What happened when you met with the presiding judge?”
“I’m good too.” She gave Marcel a lengthy recap of her meeting with Judge White.
Marcel cracked up. “He really got off on coming on her feet?”
“Yep. Crazy, huh?”
“Damn crazy,” Marcel said.
Her laughter mixed with his, then slipped into an awkward silence.
“Where are you?” Sharla asked.
“At home. I have some good news for you.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“I know for sure now who’s been terrorizing you. And it wasn’t Camille.”
“What? Then who was it?”
“I hired an investigator I know to look into it. It was a dude by the name of Robert Robinson.”
“I don’t know anybody by that name. Why would he do that to me?” She paused. “Oh, my God! Was it somebody who had a case before me? Is he some criminal?”
“Calm down. He has no connection to any case you heard, but you do know him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
“Well, who is he? Why was he terrorizing me?”
“You kinda pissed him off.”
“What are you talking about, Marcel? Stop playing around. Who is this guy?”
“In his professional life, he goes by the name of Robert Robinson. But his friends know him as Derrick Robinson.”
Sharla gasped. “I only went out with him a couple of times. He’s behind all this?”
“Not all of it. Camille did key my car, but that was it. Derrick vandalized your backyard, took that picture of us and had it delivered to your courtroom. He even had some chick he knows call the opposing counsel in the Kress case to tell him about us.” Marcel snickered. “And he also told us how you got him all revved up and then left him hanging.”
“Oh, my God! We have to report him to the police.”
“Hold on. That could cause more problems for you than it would solve.”
“But he’s a crazy stalker. I’ll never feel safe again as long as—”
“I made a deal with him. I personally deleted the picture from his phone and the cloud. And we had a nice, long talk. I’m certain he’ll never bother you again. I even had him write you a check for a grand to replace your backyard furniture.”
“But he’s obviously unbalanced. How can you know for sure that he’ll never bother me again?”
“Because he’s on probation from a two-year-old domestic violence charge. Reporting him to the police means his probation gets revoked and he loses his job. And it could also mean unwanted publicity for you.”
Sharla hadn’t thought about that. Marcel was right. She couldn’t bring the police into this.
“The guy apparently has a hard time dealing with rejection,” Marcel went on. “He started stalking his last girlfriend after she tried to leave him. They’d only been dating three months.”
“Oh, my God! He’s crazy. I’m still afraid he might try something again.”
“He won’t.”
“I don’t understand how you can be so sure of that.”
“Because if he does, he knows I’ll whip his ass.”
Marcel recounted their conversation with Robinson. “By the time we got through threatening his skinny ass, he was about to piss on himself.”
Sharla inhaled, resigned to accepting Marcel’s advice. “Wow. I didn’t know you could go gangsta. I like a brotha with a little hood in him.”
“Is that right?” Marcel said. “So how much hood can you handle?”
“I can handle all the hood you got,” Sharla purred. “Since you’re no longer with Sherman & Finnegan, we don’t have any ethical constraints keeping us apart. So now I can really show you what I’m working with.”
Marcel chuckled. “You’ve already shown me quite a bit.”
“Naw. I’ve been holding back. You only got the appetizer. Now it’s time to get buck wild with a full-course meal.”
“Well, I’m hella hungry right now. I never told you this, but I’ve fantasized about doing you in that black robe of yours.”
“I think I can make that happen.”
“You have no idea how much I wish you were here right now,” Marcel said wistfully.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Open your front door.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Sharla heard heavy footsteps, then seconds later, Marcel opened the door to find her standing on his doorstep in her long, black robe and red pumps.
“Your wish is my command, counselor.” She glided across the threshold, closing the door behind her.
Marcel was grinning so hard, his cheeks looked as if they’d been stuffed with two golf balls.
He leaned forward and peered down the front of her robe.
“Damn, girl! Your ass is butt
naked under there!”
Sharla smiled. “I just pray none of your neighbors saw me changing clothes in the car just now.”
Marcel pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He unzipped her robe just enough to expose her perfectly round breasts. His lips gently tugged each nipple, then he reared back.
“I just want to look at you.”
“Look all you want. But let me give you a better view.” Sharla pulled the zipper all the way down to the bottom and posed seductively with her hands on her hips.
He reached underneath the robe and cupped her butt, pulling her to him.
“Yep,” Marcel moaned into her ear.
“Yep, what?” Sharla asked, as she slid his T-shirt up and kissed his hard-as-rock abs.
“We’re definitely going to get buck wild tonight.”
Marcel took her hand and led her down the hallway to his bedroom.
“So tell me what you want,” Sharla said, nibbling the crook of his neck. “And exactly how you want it.”
“I love a woman who likes to please.” He squinted his eyes and ran his tongue along his lower lip. “Bend over.”
Sharla was about to kick off her red pumps when Marcel stopped her. “No. Keep those on.”
She slowly turned away from him, planted her hands flat on the bed and protruded her ass toward him. Marcel hiked up her black robe high on her back and entered her from behind.
“You have no idea how much I love fuckin’ you, girl,” Marcel moaned, delving into her.
Sharla pushed back hard against him, biting her lip as she craved the painful, yet pleasurable sensation of having his fullness inside her. As he continued to ride her, Marcel’s right hand reached around and massaged her clit. She could barely keep her ass in the air as shivers of ecstasy fired from her core.
“Harder!” Sharla challenged him. “I can take it. Act like you really want it!”
Marcel obeyed, his hand falling away from her hot box so he could concentrate solely on his own pleasure. He gripped both sides of her ass as he pounded into her.
“Damn, your pussy is sooo tight!”
“And it’s all for you, baby,” she cried out.
Marcel’s huge shaft burned like a blazing fire inside her. She could tell from his increasingly rapid pace that he was close. He came with a guttural roar that almost scared her. Marcel collapsed onto her back, breathing like an asthmatic.
In seconds, he was up again, positioning Sharla on all fours. Pulling her legs apart, Marcel slid between her legs, his head directly underneath her cunt. He eagerly licked her, picking up where his fingers had left off.
Sharla pressed her twat into his face, desperate for the warm, erotic sensation of his wide tongue. More than once, she was about to collapse, but Marcel’s massive hands clutched her thighs, holding her up.
By the time Sharla neared the tipping point, even Marcel couldn’t contain her. She pulsated, panted, and cried out his name, then exploded in a powerful orgasmic eruption. Breaking free from his grasp, she rolled onto her back.
Marcel rested his head on her shoulder and she stroked his jaw.
“I guess you weren’t lying when you said you were holding back,” Marcel said, his mouth glistening with her juices. “That full-course meal was off the chain.”
“What are you talking about?” Sharla snuggled closer to him. “That wasn’t the meal. That was just the appetizer.”
If you enjoyed Unlawful Desires, Sassy Sinclair also writes legal thrillers as Pamela Samuels Young. All of Pamela’s novels are available in print, e-book, and audio book formats everywhere books are sold. Here’s an excerpt of one of her popular legal thrillers.
PROLOGUE
Both of them must pay.
Bliss Fenton took a sip of champagne as she glared across the room at the obnoxiously happy couple. They indeed made a striking pair. Their slim, toned bodies draped in designer wear and expensive jewelry. So trendy. So California chic.
Setting her champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter, Bliss snaked her way through the crowd, hoping to get a better view. As she moved, her blonde curls bounced as if lifted by a cool breeze. At 5’8” and 120 pounds, her delicate frame was all slopes and curves. A body specifically designed for exhibition.
The partygoers were packed like human matchsticks inside the gaudy Hollywood Hills mansion. The home, if you could call it that, was a testament to excess. Just like the couple. Too much of everything. Too many art deco chairs, too much bronze and glass, and so much artwork the walls could barely breathe.
Only a few feet away from the couple now, Bliss found herself shoulder-to-shoulder with a too-tanned man with greasy hair. He winked at her. She sneered back at him and moved on.
A devious smile fractured Bliss’ face as she returned her attention to the couple. She imagined the angst they would experience the minute they spotted her among the partygoers. Fletcher’s lips would contort into an ugly grimace, but then coolly transition to a barely perceptible smirk. He was not the kind of man who was easily rankled. That was the reason he was a millionaire several times over.
Mia, however, would not be able to hide her emotions. Fletcher’s prissy little black princess would toss Bliss a snarl that bellowed, What the hell are you doing here?
It was Mia she wanted to punish most. Bliss had pleaded with God to curse her former friend with a pain ten times more intense than her own. She wanted Mia to live it. Breathe it. Curl up in bed with it. Just as she had.
Bliss refused to blame Fletcher for the poor choices he’d made. He was a man. And men, by nature, were weak. Still, he too would pay just the same.
The call of vengeance tugged hard at Bliss’ soul, urging her, daring her, to march right up to the couple and confront them. But she held back. For the moment. Patience had always been her most virtuous trait.
Fletcher hustled to the front of the room and began singing the praises of the newest songstress to be added to his stable of artists, LaReena Jarreau. Bliss remembered cuddling in bed with Fletcher and listening to him brag about creating her stage name, since Janice Harris had no pizzazz.
“The first time I heard her voice,” Fletcher said, throwing his arm around the bony twenty-something dressed in hooker gear, “I knew she was going to hit the music world by storm. You have to agree that what we heard tonight was—as the youngsters say—off the chain.”
Everyone applauded as the hip, dark-haired CEO of Karma Entertainment grinned, happy to be on show. The only thing Fletcher enjoyed more than being rich was having everyone know it.
Mia remained off to the side, perfecting the look of the coy, supportive fiancée. That had been Bliss’ mistake. Accepting her at face value. While Mia’s visual package was quite alluring—all charm and beauty—on the inside, she was pure evil. Truth be told, Mia wasn’t all that different from her.
Bliss Fenton, not Mia Richardson, should have been on the arm of the music industry mogul tonight. It had never occurred to Bliss that her long-time yoga buddy could walk into a party and take her new guy’s breath away. Literally.
At the time, Bliss had been dating Fletcher for a short six months. She’d invited Mia to the party at Fletcher’s Beverly Hills home for the sole purpose of showing off her new man to her smart, uppity faux-friend. Bliss could still remember Mia waving as she glided into the party, the crowd parting so effortlessly it almost seemed choreographed.
Seconds before, Fletcher had been talking nonstop about his label’s next release, but the sight of Mia had caused him to lose his train of thought. When Bliss had formally introduced them, the lust in Fletcher’s eyes further telegraphed the gravity of her mistake.
Only days after the party, Bliss’ time with Fletcher began to dwindle, explained away by late night meetings that couldn’t be avoided or last-minute business trips to New York. Mia, too, had started cancelling their after-yoga coffee ch
ats and finally stopped coming to yoga class altogether.
It was a month later, when Bliss saw Fletcher and Mia pictured together in Billboard, that she first learned of their betrayal. Her subsequent rage-filled calls to both of them had been ignored. And now, Mia was at Fletcher’s side, while Bliss had been pushed right out of his life.
A burst of applause snapped Bliss back to the present. As Fletcher seemed to be wrapping up his speech, Bliss moved closer, stopping inches behind Mia. She leaned in, her lips almost grazing Mia’s right ear.
“Congratulations on your engagement.”
Mia’s head whipped around, her dark brown skin now ashen gray. “You ... you shouldn’t be here.”
Bliss spoke in a firm whisper. “Neither should you. You backstabbing bitch.”
Mia took a step back. “This is not the place to make a scene.”
“Okay, then,” Bliss said, moving into the space Mia had abandoned. “Shall we step outside?”
A second later, Fletcher wedged himself between them. “You walk yourself out of here right now,” he said through clenched teeth, “or I’ll have security carry you out.”
Although no voices had been raised, all heads turned in their direction.
Mia didn’t move.
Fletcher, always cognizant of appearances, wore a stiff smile as he spat into Bliss’ face. “If you don’t leave, I swear I’ll have you arrested.”
After three long beats, Bliss winked. “You’ll both be hearing from me.”
Bliss couldn’t help smiling as she sashayed through the buzzing crowd.
Fletcher and Mia would suffer for their disloyalty. Bliss only wished she could be there to see their stunned faces when they learned what she had done and realized there was absolutely nothing they could do about it.
CHAPTER 1
I should have shown Fletcher McClain to the door 30 minutes ago, but the words seem to be stuck in my throat. I hate to admit it—even to myself—but I like having him in my space again.
“So will you take care of this for me, Vernetta?”
He’s been pacing the length of my office for several minutes now. When he first stormed in and slapped the Petition to Establish Parental Relationship on my desk, he was so wound up I thought he might be on the verge of a stroke.
Unlawful Desires (Lawyers in Lust Book 1) Page 12
