“Kiss me” his deep voice cuts through the silence as I swallow past the nervous lump in my throat. I watch him for a long second as the flurries of wings in my stomach increases. I never move my eyes away from his, and his hands stay firmly in his pockets as I come up on my tip toes and brace myself on his lapels. I hold my breath as I tilt my head to the side, and he copies me only in the other direction. I press my lips to his gently, savoring the soft plump skin against mine before adding more pressure. I know we’ve kissed before, but this is different. My eyes close as sensation takes over me, my whole-body heats and flushes against his tight body. I open my mouth a little, darting my tongue out to taste his bottom lip and he finally moves his hands from his pockets. Coming up to cradle both sides of my face, his thumbs pressing lightly into my cheeks, he holds me still as I push my tongue further into his mouth. He’s given me complete control, my confidence rising by the second as I taste him. A moan escapes me as our mouths crash together, licking, tasting and sucking at each other before Liam pulls away. Resting his forehead on mine, he doesn’t let his hands drop from my face. Brushing his lips swiftly against mine once before staring down at me, his dark, navy blue orbs stare at me as he chews his bottom lip.
“We’re not doing this here Amelia” his voice is gravelly, but my thoughts are quickly turned to his words.
“What? You can’t kiss me like that and then not…”
“Not what?”
“Fuck me” I’m breathless, but I suddenly feel too open and naked in front of him.
A low growl escapes his lips, but he pulls further away. Rejection starts to bubble into my stomach, crushing the fragile wings of the butterflies he put there. Past demons threaten to break through the wall of confidence I’ve so strongly built.
“You deserve more than a random hotel fuck Amelia” his voice cuts through any unease I might have felt at his rejection with a sharp blade. I glance up at him and see a totally different man to the one I’ve come to know. This one is gentle and caring, his eyes still glittering in the soft light, his lips slightly swollen from my assault and I can’t help it when my feet move to lunge at him. I’m fast as I crash into his body, wrapping my legs around his waist as I do. I know he needs control, I understand the craving because I crave it too. I want to kiss him and do all manner of dirty things with him and so I throw all caution to the wind and go after the one thing that I want. Liam brings one arm underneath me and another around my mid-section, holding me upright. Our lips smash together and my arms band around his neck as he braces his back against the wall. We’re all teeth and tongue as I ravish his taste in my mouth, his words swirling around in my head. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so…so, cherished. The fact that he has taken into account my needs before his own makes me like him even more, and the fact that he’s going home with blue balls if the tent in his slacks is anything to go by. I giggle into his mouth and our kiss eases, but he doesn’t drop me back to my feet. Pulling away from his face I glare down at this oddity of a man and give him a closed lip smile.
“Something funny?”
I nod, hiding another laugh, “Your blue balls”
“My blue balls?” he raises a perfect eyebrow at me.
“Yep”
“Well, I think you’ll find you’re also being blue balled. My apologies if I’m a gentleman” he smirks.
“I have other means” I tease, glancing towards the bathroom. Memories of those super jet shower heads make my legs quiver slightly.
“You didn’t” he accuses, failing to hide the amusement in his voice. I roll my lips and feign ignorance as he slaps my bum playfully and puts me on my feet.
“You’re full of surprises Amelia” he straightens his jacket before kissing my forehead. What is it about him doing that? He gives me a case of the warm fuzzies each time his lips press against my skin. This hard up, caveman is turning me all soppy.
“We’ll do this properly. I’ll call you tomorrow” he lingers slightly before pulling back and heading to the door. All I can manage is a nod as he winks at me before closing my door. That man is going to be the death of me if he continues this charade.
My face aches slightly by the time I get into bed from the huge smile I can’t seem to wipe from it, but for once I’m relaxed and happy going to sleep. Excited about tomorrow and what the next few weeks will bring with Liam. I appreciate him thinking of me when it comes to where we have sex, but I honestly couldn’t give a shit. It could be in a dark dingy alley for all I care, anywhere would do just to rid me of this throbbing need! Luckily, the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed today hits me like a ton of bricks and I fall deeply into the cloud of bedding, succumbing to the gods of sleep like a devout worshipper.
∞ ∞ ∞
When I woke I was sure I’d dreamt it all, but Liam’s spicy scent lingered in the room even hours after. I know I’m in trouble with him, but I can’t break the invisible pull I have to him, who knows, us fucking could actually benefit the business and not hinder it. See positive thinking. I met Becca and Jason for breakfast, which included a million and one questions about my night. Which I promptly answered with the truth, much to Becca’s disappointment. It didn’t slip my mind that she seemed to be having trouble sitting down this morning. I don’t want to know. We headed back to the city and I still couldn’t budge this stupid, teenage smile on my face.
Chapter Seventeen
Monday morning, I tried my best to push the events of the weekend into a box and get on with my day. Arriving at court bright and early, I was prepared for the prosecution to be called first which meant I’d be sat here all day listening to incriminating evidence. I spent the day yesterday not thinking about Liam and getting all my files in order. Okay, I’d thought about him for best part of the day and wondered why he hadn’t called me. I hadn’t dwelled on it; the guy has a life and he works hard so I decided it was nothing and left it at that. Focusing instead on the dreamy aspect and possibilities of getting him into my bed instead, but I’d managed to get some work done. I honestly thought that Mr. Johnson was telling the truth, people have a certain look to them when their guilty.
Scientists have even done research on it, I remember an article I read a few months ago said that the most common trait of a liar was never making eye contact. Some people fiddle with their hands, their hair or repeatedly touch their face. Mr. Johnson has never done any of those things, so he was either a professional liar or he was telling the truth. The evidence is insufficient, nowhere near enough to convict him of first degree murder. I have no idea why the prosecution asked for that charge and not manslaughter. It makes a juicy gossip column that’s why.
Having entered a not guilty verdict from the get go, he better hope he’s found to be innocent. The sentence can be so much worse if they find you guilty afterwards. The judge is an old timer, one I’ve dealt with on several cases, he’s getting on a bit now mind you and I can bet he’s sick of sitting in that chair wearing the same scratchy wig that I am. Damn hate the things, no matter how many times you have them professionally cleaned they still scratch at your scalp like a cat would a post. As the lunch hour ticks on by, I guess we aren’t adjourned for a bite to eat, and so I spend the rest of the afternoon listening to the snobby prosecution barrister whose stutter is getting harder and harder to ignore and hearing my stomach groan in protest. Taking notes where possible, to make sure I have my counter arguments ready and sneaking glances at the jury to see if I can get a read on them, I pray that the evidence we have is enough. I can’t wait to get my claws stuck into the cross examination of this case. There’s no murder weapon, no blood trail, nothing that I can see other than the sperm they found on the deceased linking my client to the murder. All that proves is that they had sex, but obviously that’s being misconstrued as rape. I have a team working on getting their hands on the CCTV from her house, hopefully it will show up something. I love burying people with their own words, call me a sadist but you try it. It’s amazing fooling people at their own game.
At three o’clock we’re finally adjourned until tomorrow, my bum and leg muscles groan in protest from sitting for so long. Shaking them out, I push my jet-black pencil skirt down, smoothing out the crinkles, and shifting my red chiffon blouse back into place.
“I’ll see you tomorrow” I nod at Mr. Johnson, dressed in his navy Armani suit looking every bit out of place here as he should. Shackles hang from his wrists and ankles and the dark circles under his eyes are proof that he isn’t having an easy time inside. The judge who handed down his conviction had refused bail on the grounds that he could leave the country. No matter how I argued we could remove his passport and place him under house arrest, the judge wouldn’t buy it. Slipping out of the side door, I shrug out of my cloaks and take off my wig, folding them neatly before putting them in my bag. Snuggling into my dove grey coat, knotting the tie around my waist I head out into the hallway. It’s quiet given the time, and my heels sound louder on the old marble floor than they should. There’s a few people milling around from the other cases going on, but it’s otherwise empty. The emptier these old buildings are, the colder they feel. A small shiver passes through me, making my hairs stand on edge. When I first started taking cases here, I’d been mesmerized by the architecture. The post-renaissance facias decorate the walls along with oil paintings hung in ornate gold frames. Most of the paintings are of prominent legal figures, but art was always more Becca’s thing than mine. I prefer the newer, modern courts in London, but we got lumped with this for this case. Sinking lower into my coat I head towards the exit, only to walk straight into someone coming out a side door.
“Oh…Sorry” I manage, before moving a stray strand of hair out of my eyes and looking up. I’m met with the swirls of blue you’d only see on a bright day at the beach. The swirls in them look like the rings around a rain drop in a puddle, swirling and moving like a kaleidoscope. My boring, dark chocolate ones have nothing on his.
“Liam” my voice is hoarse, those feelings I thought I’d successfully locked away creeping back to the forefront. His stare is unyielding, burning into my skin. I roll my lips to hide my pleased smile.
“Amelia” his deep voice almost sounds amused as it fills the space around us, slightly echoing off the ancient walls. Is he happy to see me? The black suit he has on is pristine, paired with a crisp white shirt and black tie. The knot in his tie looks more intricate than usual, and I find my eyes fixated on it. I’m too close to him, his heat fills my safety bubble and I know I should step away. I’d overthought everything yesterday when we got home. He told me to kiss him, so I did. But I still had a choice, didn’t I? I didn’t have to kiss him! The need was stronger than anything I’d felt before, and I’d decided to throw myself head first into whatever the hell this was. Slithering paranoia had crept in, making me wonder if it was a test. But why would he test me? If he was, I’d totally failed and came out the other end looking like a needy whore-bag. Great. Well done Mia! My feet don’t listen to the signals my brain is sending them and, so I stay rooted on the spot. I see him shift, but he’s too quick for me to react.
A long, masculine finger comes up underneath my chin, pushing up gently so I meet his eyes.
“What did I say about apologizing to me?” that damned authoritative voice sends flurries of aches through my body. My nerves subside, and I can’t hide the pleased smile that creeps up my cheeks. Just tell him. Ask him to fuck you and get it over with. I close my eyes tightly, willing my bodies reaction to just fuck off.
I roll my lips together, stopping myself from saying it again, or anything out loud for that matter. He smirks before asking “What are you doing here?” his hand drops from my chin and I instantly miss it. Ugh! Clearing my throat and taking a small step backwards, out of his intoxicating scent of cologne and his personal mixture.
“I have a case. First degree murder, you?” A small, throaty laugh leaves his throat and I realize he has some stubble today. Along his jaw line and down onto his neck, it suits him. The dark hairs contrasting against his taught jawline, I wither my bottom lip between my teeth unintentionally. My inner thighs itch slightly at the thought of it chafing against them. Letting his eyes drop to my lips before returning swiftly to my eyes, he admits “You win that one. I got lumped with some old timers squabbling about a few million. The guy I had on the case is sick” he pulls a face as he speaks, clearly not impressed that he’s been dragged into a messy divorce. I let out my own laugh, grateful that I don’t get those cases. I don’t mind business or family law, but there’s a reason I have different departments at Bellucci.
Can you imagine the head stress of having to deal with a gold digging wife and an old bastard who couldn’t get it up any longer? No thank you. I could have stayed a Solicitor, but I wanted to push myself, I wanted more. I applied to the Bar Standards Board so that I could still litigate in dual-capacity. So technically I’m both. I’m used to people’s reactions when I tell them what I do for a living. It surprising how many people need barristers. Given the clientele I deal with, most of my cases consist of love rivals gone wrong, or the occasional party that’s gotten so out of hand there’s usually a dead body at the end of it. It takes a special kind of person to deal with murder, you need a strong stomach for one.
Shaking my thoughts aside, I smile back at him and tuck my hands into my coat pockets. I feel my body relax a little, glad that he hasn’t pushed me for any more information.
“Are you hungry?” Surprise must flash across my face because Liam throws me one of his show stopping smiles. All pearly, straight white teeth flash across his face before he looks down at me. Those thick, long lashes rimming his eyes draw me in. Why do men seem to have better eyelashes than us girls? I never understood it.
“It’s just dinner Amelia. I’m fucking starving” he says as he shrugs into his dark overcoat, swinging his black briefcase into his other hand. He clearly wears designer pieces, but I can’t put my finger on which one.
“Uh…sure?” I question, my brow furrowing as my stomach rumbles in the silence. Liam looks down at my stomach and huffs in laughter, shaking his head at the same time.
“Come on” and with that he turns on his heel, grabs my free hand and stalks towards the door. I can’t help but follow him, his grip on me is firm, yet gentle. His large hand clasps over mine protectively and I find myself smiling to no-one. Why does he want to have dinner with me? The thought occurs to me that he could pull out of the merger, not wanting to go into business with a psycho slut, or it could have a very happy ending. I knew that he would have slept with me on Saturday if he really wanted to, hell, I wanted him to! The sudden feeling you get when you realize what’s been in front of you for so long dawns on me. Yep, he’s definitely pulling out of this deal. Bollocks.
Chapter Eighteen
Ikeep quiet the whole way to wherever Liam is taking us, not wanting to break the comfortable bubble we seem to be in. His hand never left mine as we took the tube over to the Embankment. I have an inkling that something isn’t quite right, that maybe this isn’t going to work out the way I hope it will. Karma has a way of working like that. Well for me anyway. He wouldn’t be holding your hand if he was going to run I remind myself in a bid to calm the fuck down as Liam takes us to a gorgeous restaurant I’ve been to many times. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts I hadn’t paid attention to the obvious route we were taking. A flip of excitement and eagerness flutters in my stomach, the food here is to die for, but my appetite dwindles at the possible crappy ending. The years I spent with my mother didn’t have many if any nice meals, and then being thrust into student life and the regular diet of instant noodles – yeah, I like nice food now, hence why I don’t cook!
The restaurant is situated right on the Thames near our new office building, I glance around for the shiny facade, spotting it just down the street. On entering the large, white stone columned entrance we are greeted by a young man in a black penguin suit, including the delectable dickie bow. I recognize him from the various other times I’ve
been here, but I always forget his name!
“Mr. Hadleigh, Ms Bellucci. What a lovely surprise! I wasn’t expecting you today, do you have a reservation?” He asks us, flashing us a dazzling, white smile. Liam drops my hand to shake his and greets him in return.
“No Matt, can you find something for us?” Liam answers. Matt! I must remember his name! I know this place gets busy, and we shouldn’t expect to get a table at such short notice, but he surprises me.
“Not a problem. I’m sure we can fit you in!” he says, turning and walking further into the low-lit restaurant. Liam places his hand at the small of my back, urging me to follow, it’s a sensation I’m slowly getting used to. I don’t dare look at him as I follow our waiter. My baser instincts are screaming to be taken by this man, and if this doesn’t end in rejection I might just mount him across the table. Dampening down the eagerness that grows between legs, my body thinks he still wants me, my brain however knows otherwise. Saturday night is on replay in my head, and hope swells in my core at the thought. See, I can do this whole voodoo, positive crap.
Powerless (Power Series Book 1) Page 13
