by Lisa Childs
And Stone figuratively turned a corner. He went from the suave, cultured lawyer he had become back to the street kid who was always ready to fight.
Dwight was gone, so he turned toward Hillary. She was usually always ready to fight, too. And as if she’d read his mind, she swung her hand and slapped his shoulder.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” she asked again. “Why are you acting like a Neanderthal?”
“Because I am one,” he admitted. “You think it’s just a press release, but I was once a teenage runaway.”
She narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “Really? I know for a fact that not all your press releases are factual.”
“Not the last one,” he admitted. He knew she had no interest in her boss’s job. “But you are all about winning—your good friend just said so.”
He barely knew Dwight, but he hated the guy—hated that he’d touched her like Stone wanted to touch her again. Needed to touch her.
“And from living on the streets,” Stone continued, “I learned that I had to fight for what I wanted.”
“What do you want?” Hillary asked, and her usually strong voice sounded breathless.
She knew.
But he told her anyway. “You!” Then he pulled her into his arms. Her feet dangling above the floor, he walked her backward into her apartment and kicked the door closed behind them.
“I didn’t—”
Whatever she’d been about to say was lost when his mouth covered hers. He’d been so hungry for her for so long that he kissed her deeply, with all the emotion coursing through him. He didn’t recognize that first one—that one had been more intense than anger—because he’d never felt it before.
But he felt it again as he thought of Dwight coming here to be with Hillary. And he wanted to brand her as his.
He’d never felt such a primitive urge before. It was even more intense than when he’d lost control the first time they’d had sex. But just like then, she matched his passion.
Her fingers clutched his hair. But she didn’t pull him away from her. She held his head to hers as she kissed him back. Her desire was in her lips as they moved hungrily over his, in her tongue as it darted inside his mouth to taste him. Then she ran her hands over his sweater, molding the cashmere to his chest before she tugged on the hem to pull it up.
He stepped back, just enough so that he could drag off his sweater. Then he reached for hers. It had already fallen off one shoulder, leaving it bare but for the thin strap of a black bra. He tugged the sweater off and unclasped her bra so that it dropped to the floor, too.
Then he pushed down her pants and the little scrap of lace she wore beneath them. He had to have her now.
She reached for his belt, jerked it loose and lowered his zipper, metal hissing. His breath hissed, too, out between his clenched teeth, as she touched him, her fingers stroking over the head of his engorged cock.
He was too close to the edge. So he pulled her hand away. His was shaking as he fumbled for a condom and tore it open. He rolled it on quickly before he lifted her up and eased inside her.
She locked her legs and arms around him, clutching him as she moved. She was as desperate for release as he was, and for him as he was for her.
He turned her so that her back leaned against her front door. And he took her right there, just inside her apartment. He took her in a frenzy of need.
And not just for release.
He needed to be with her on a more elemental level, as if he was claiming her as his. He lowered his head and kissed her breasts, moving his mouth over the fullness of one before closing his lips over a nipple. He nipped at it gently with his teeth, and she cried out.
But it wasn’t in pain. She bucked and writhed in his arms, arching her hips as she slid up and down him.
Her inner muscles convulsed, squeezing him as she came, screaming his name. And his name on her lips snapped the last of his control.
He thrust again and again until his body tensed, then shuddered as a powerful release overtook him. He came and came...like he had never come before.
And when it was over, his knees shook, and he felt a fear like he hadn’t felt since he’d been living alone on the streets—before he’d found the other guys. No. He felt even more vulnerable than he had then. Back then he’d been afraid of losing his life.
Now he was afraid of losing his heart.
* * *
“What the hell was that?” Hillary asked as Stone stepped out of the small bathroom. Like her, he’d dressed again. He must have even splashed some water on his face because a droplet dripped off his rigid jaw.
Or maybe it was sweat. Hillary’s skin was damp beneath her sweater. She felt flushed yet, hot. And despite that release that had turned her muscles—the few she had—to mush, she wanted him again.
He looked so damn handsome, even with his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. He seemed as frustrated as he’d been when he’d shown up at her door.
“I don’t know,” Stone said.
And she believed he was being honest. He had no idea. And neither did she. What was it about him that affected her so much, that made her want him?
Even now, after that mind-blowing orgasm, she wanted him again. But she wanted some answers first. “Why are you really here?”
“After that, you need to ask?”
“You don’t need me for that,” she said. “I’m sure there are slews of women who would be happy to have sex with you.” Desperate even. And she’d vowed not to become one of those women. But anytime they were alone together she forgot that vow, forgot what a bad idea it was to have sex with opposing counsel in the biggest trial of her career.
“Is that why Dwight was here?” he bitterly asked. “For sex with you?”
He sounded so pissy that she couldn’t help but smile. “Jealous?” she asked.
His eyes widened as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. But then, given his life, the way women threw themselves at him and his partners, he’d probably never had a reason to feel jealous before.
But he shook his head. He was either in denial or too proud to admit the truth. “I just want to know what the hell you have with that guy,” he said. “The same thing you have with me?”
She’d never had with anyone else what she had with Stone. But she wasn’t about to admit that to him. “We don’t have anything,” she told him, “except a trial in common.”
He stepped closer to her and called her on the lie. “Bullshit. You know we have more than that—we have this...” He leaned down and kissed her, driving his tongue inside her mouth like he’d driven himself into her body. When he pulled away, they were both panting for breath. “You don’t have that with skinny little Dwight,” he said. “You can’t.”
“I can’t have anything with you,” she said. “Not when we’re both on this trial.” Maybe she shouldn’t have talked her boss out of taking the case from her. It was what Stone had wanted, but she didn’t think it was because he wanted to publicly date her.
He only wanted sex with her. Not a relationship. And that was all this was: sex. And she wouldn’t let that—or anything else—affect how she handled the trial.
His lips curved into that slight wicked grin of his. “How the hell did you talk Wilson Tremont out of taking it away from you?”
“I pointed out it’s what you want,” she said. “Because you think you can beat him. You know you’re going to lose to me.”
He shook his head. “If you get a conviction, the one who’s going to lose is Byron Mueller,” he said. “He’s innocent.”
She laughed. “How can you say that? I’ve pretty much presented my whole case, and there’s overwhelming evidence showing that he did it. He killed his wife.”
But Stone just stubbornly shook his head again. “No, he didn’t.”
“The only thing you had to prove
his innocence was that fake alibi,” she said. “And those bank records blew that up. You’re going to lose.”
That was probably what was wrong with him—just like Dwight had suggested. He really hated to lose—probably because he’d done it so rarely. If ever...
She wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually lost a case. Usually if it looked like he wasn’t going to win, he pleaded them down to lesser charges.
“You wouldn’t have those records if not for that damn office mole,” he muttered as he glanced around her apartment. It was small. The hall opened onto a tiny living room that doubled as the dining room with a kitchen in a corner of it. There was one other door off the hall and that was to her bedroom. She wasn’t letting him in there, though.
She shouldn’t have let him inside at all. And she definitely shouldn’t have had sex with him.
“You wouldn’t have turned them over?” she asked.
“I didn’t have them,” he said.
She wasn’t sure if she believed him. He’d already proved that he would do anything to win: even her. But she wasn’t throwing this trial just because she was starting to have...
What?
What was she starting to have for him?
Feelings?
A chill chased down her spine, and she shivered despite the heaviness of her sweater. No. It wasn’t possible. She had vowed long ago to never fall in love with anyone. She knew all relationships eventually ended, or one person let the other person down.
She didn’t want to get hurt.
Again...
CHAPTER TEN
THE WAY HILLARY was staring at him was the same way she stared at a hostile witness—just before she broke him, like she’d pretty much broken Byron’s alibi witness, Scooter. He rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. Despite that soul-shattering release, he was still tense. Still edgy.
And it wasn’t just because of the way she was looking at him. It was because of the way she made him feel: out of control. Stone did not like that at all.
“It was a mistake coming here,” he murmured.
“So you’re not going to ask for a plea deal for your client?” she asked, and she arched a blond brow.
She knew that wasn’t why he’d come to see her. “I don’t plea out for an innocent client.”
She snorted. “There’s nothing innocent about Byron Mueller. Or you.”
“I told you I didn’t know about those bank records,” he said. And he was getting damn sick of defending himself.
“The envelope had the logo and address for Street Legal,” she said. “It came from your office.”
“The mole has access to our stationery somehow,” he said. The documents forged about Ronan had been on their stationery as well.
“So it’s someone who works for you,” she surmised.
He and his partners had deduced the same thing and had even identified a suspect. But Simon’s former assistant, Bette Monroe, wasn’t guilty of anything but making Simon fall in love with her.
Stone considered that a crime, though. Falling in love was too dangerous. It was what had caused his mom to turn to the same life of drugs as Stone’s father. She’d used and sold just to make her husband happy. If not for him, she would have never tried them. If not for him, she would have gotten clean. But she’d been more addicted to his father than she’d been to the drugs.
There was no way she would have ever left him—if she hadn’t overdosed some years ago. At least that was what Stone had heard from the private investigator he’d hired to look for his parents.
Fingers snapped in his face, and Stone focused on Hillary. Her blue eyes were soft with concern, and she asked, “Are you okay?”
He sighed and nodded. “Yeah.”
“What’s really bothering you?” she asked. “Your office mole or the fact that you’re losing this trial?”
You. She was what was really bothering him, making him think about things he hadn’t thought about in years. Like his past. Like his parents...
“I am not going to lose,” he insisted. He couldn’t. Not when he had an innocent client. “The truth will come out.”
“It already has,” she said. “You just refuse to accept it. Old moneybags Mueller killed his child bride in a fit of jealous rage.”
Stone snorted. “Jealous rage over what?”
“Her lover.”
“Rumored lover,” Stone said. “You presented no proof this person actually exists. Just speculation from the staff and her friends.”
“Speculation would have been inadmissible,” she said with a smile. “I had eyewitness accounts that Byron found out about the lover and was enraged.”
He shrugged like he didn’t believe her. But during his last meeting with his client, he’d gotten the impression that Byron did know she’d had a lover and who that lover was. “I’m well aware you presented that as your motive. But you’re wrong,” he said. “This was no crime of passion.”
She stepped closer to him then and said, “You’re right about Dwight. We’re more than friends. We hook up whenever we’re between relationships and bored.”
He’d known it, but her saying it put images in his head, images of her wrapped around that little skinny lawyer like she’d been wrapped around him moments ago. And once again his control snapped, and he dragged her up against him.
Before he could utter the word burning in his brain, she laughed and saved him from making a fool of himself. Because the word he’d been about to say was Mine.
* * *
Stone released her so abruptly that Hillary stumbled back and nearly fell. And her laughter stopped. He looked shocked. Maybe she’d finally gotten through to him.
“You get it now,” she said. “You understand how a man could become so jealous that he might commit a crime of passion.”
Stone shook his head. “I’m not jealous.”
But the words rang hollowly. She was tempted to mess with him again, like she had earlier. But before she could say anything more, he continued.
“And men get jealous all the time without ever killing anyone over it,” he said. “If Mueller had found out his wife was cheating on him, he would have just divorced her.”
She snorted. “And lose any of his millions?”
“Billions,” Stone corrected her.
She’d seen the bank records; he wasn’t exaggerating. But she hadn’t been impressed. She knew someone who had more money and wasn’t as obnoxious about it as Byron Mueller. “Exactly.”
Stone snorted now.
“I know he has some money to spare,” she said. “But men like Mueller don’t like giving up any of that money, especially to a woman who’s wronged him.”
“He wouldn’t have had to give up a dime,” Stone said. “My partner Ronan Hall drew up an ironclad prenup before Byron married his latest bride—”
“Late bride,” Hillary corrected him. “She’s dead.”
“But my client wouldn’t have killed her,” Stone insisted, “even if he found out she was cheating. He would have just divorced her.”
Damn it! Stone was good—so good that he was getting to Hillary. And she could not have that, could not have him swaying her, because if he could sway her, he would definitely sway the jury.
“Sure,” she agreed. “If he was thinking rationally, you’re right. He would have just divorced her. But in the heat of the moment, finding out that she was cheating on him...” She stepped closer to Stone and ran her fingertips over the cashmere that was molded to the sculpted muscles of his chest. They rippled beneath her touch, and his heart began to beat harder. She could feel it as she laid her palm over it. “...finding out that she was with another man, kissing him...”
She leaned closer and brushed her mouth across his throat, and his pulse jumped beneath her lips. “Touching him...” She skimmed her hand down his c
hest to the buckle of his belt, then lower, over his fly...
“Damn you!” he cursed her on a raspy breath. And he reached for her again. But he didn’t just jerk her against him. He swung her up in his arms. “Where’s your bedroom?”
She laughed again as she pointed out the door to him. It was painted white like the walls and the scarred wood floor. “See what I’m saying,” she said. “Passion...”
“You going to pull that in court to prove your point?” he asked as he turned to get her and his broad shoulders through her doorway. “You going to get every member of the jury all worked up and jealous?”
“Do you think it would work?” she asked.
He dropped her onto the bed so that she bounced against the mattress. Just like Dwight had warned him, her bedroom wasn’t girlie. Hillary was not girlie. So there was nothing pink or floofy. Her room was white, like the rest of the apartment. Her sheets were white, too, with thin blue pinstripes on them. But her bed was unmade, and the only pillows were the ones she slept on.
But Stone didn’t seem to mind a bit. He pulled off his sweater, his muscles rippling in his chest and washboard abs. “Worked on me...”
So he was all worked up and jealous...
Over her?
She never would have imagined that in a million years before that night in her office, when he’d kissed her. That had just been a little over a week ago, but it felt like a long time.
So long that she couldn’t remember a time that she hadn’t wanted him. But then, even before that night, she’d wanted him—had had her little hot fantasies about him.
If he was truly jealous about Dwight, she could have told him that the last several times she’d been with the other man, she’d imagined that he was Stone.
She’d wanted him to be Stone.
Why was she so damn attracted to a man like him? One who represented criminals and killers? And he didn’t just represent them; he got them off.
That wasn’t going to happen this time, though. This time she was going to win.
After stripping off his clothes, he reached for hers. He dragged off her sweater, tousling her hair. Then he peeled her pants and underwear down her legs. And as he did, he kissed every inch of skin he exposed. His lips skimmed over the arch of her foot and her ankle before moving up her calves and thighs to her core.
