by Lane Hart
“I just made it official at the end of the semester,” she informs me.
“That’s great,” I tell her, leaning over to give her a kiss on her cheek. “You’re a natural, and I’m so proud of you.”
“Well, it was nice meeting both of you, but I have another appointment I need to get to,” the Attorney General says when he gets to his feet. “Good luck to you both. I wish you the best, and you should have a decision from our office in a few weeks,” he says, offering us his palm to shake again before he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Oh my God,” Sam says, slumping back in her chair after he’s gone. “I can’t believe it!”
“Me either,” I tell her with a shake of my head. “You’re incredible. And I think we should celebrate.”
“I agree,” Sam says before she gets up and climbs on my lap, straddling my legs, her mouth slanting over mine. “Make love to me,” she whispers against my lips.
“Here?” I ask, wrapping my arms around the waist of her dress to pull her closer.
“Here. That is, if you have a condom?” she asks while unzipping my pants.
“Ah, yeah. But here?” I say again. And then I realize that if we have sex in this chair, there won’t be any restraints involved. “I can touch you?” I ask to make sure.
Sam nods before she replies. “But I’ll keep my dress on. You know, in case someone comes in.”
“I can live with that,” I tell her, just happy to have my hands on her in any way I possibly can.
“We should try and make this quick,” Sam says. While I grab my wallet to pull out a condom, she starts stroking my shaft in her fist.
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” I tell her as I reach for her face to bring her lips back down to mine.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sam
On the way back to the apartment on my afternoon jog, I decide to stop and check the mail. I pull my key out of my running belt and slide it into our lock.
I walk the rest of the way home as I cool down, sorting through the envelopes as I go. My sneakers freeze when I get to the one addressed to Dr. Grant Matthews, not only because it’s unusual for anyone to write him with the doctor title, but because it’s from the North Carolina Board of Physical Therapy Examiners.
“Grant!” I scream as soon as I get through the apartment door. “Grant!”
“Shh! Sleeping baby,” he says with a finger up to his lips when he walks down the hallway with a grin.
“Look what came today!” I tell him in an excited whisper, holding up the envelope. Two weeks ago, we received Grant’s dismissal in the mail. The Assistant Attorney General thankfully decided not to retry the case. That means there’s only one hurdle left to get back everything Grant lost.
“Open it! Open it!” I encourage him.
“That didn’t take long. Do you think it’s good news?” he asks hesitantly.
“Open the damn thing and find out!” I tell him, instead of pointing out the fact that they addressed him as “doctor” in case I’m mistaken.
Gently tearing off one end of the envelope, Grant pulls out the letter and starts reading.
“Dear Doctor Matthews, we’re pleased to inform you that after further consideration based on recent developments in your criminal court case, the Board has reinstated your physical therapist's license. The Board believes that the previous one-year suspension of your license, along with one year of probation constitutes an adequate punishment for any real or perceived indiscretion on your part. Therefore, your reinstatement is effective immediately!” Grant exclaims as happy tears well up in my eyes. “After you begin practicing again, you and your files will be subject to unannounced inspections for the first twelve months to ensure compliance with all laws and rules that govern licensed physical therapists in the state of North Carolina!”
“Oh, my God, Grant! This is…I’m so happy for you!” I tell him, throwing my arms around his neck.
“I can’t believe it,” he says into my hair while hugging me tightly. “I never thought I would be able to practice again. And it’s all thanks to you.”
“More like because of me,” I correct him as I pull away.
“None of this was your fault! How many times will I have to tell you that before you believe it?” he asks.
“Either way, I’m just glad you’re getting a second chance.”
“All I wanted was to be able to earn a living and take care of my girls. Now that I can do that as a therapist again, I’m the happiest man alive,” he says, peppering my face with kisses.
“And you, my wonderful husband, make me the happiest girl alive,” I tell him.
“You know, I would say I regret we didn’t meet sooner, but then I would’ve been in sooo much more trouble,” Grant teases.
“I can’t help if I’m young and you’re an old man.”
“I’m your old man, and don’t you forget,” he says, nipping at my ear and making me giggle.
“You better hurry up and take me to bed and remind me before we have to go get you a Viagra prescription,” I tell him.
Reaching down, Grant grabs my thighs, picking me up so that my feet leave the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist and hold onto his neck tightly as he carries me to the bedroom. The position lines up my core with his growing erection.
“I think you’ll notice that those pills are definitely unnecessary as long as you’re around.”
“I noticed,” I assure him with a smile. “You’ve made that perfectly obvious ever since the day we met.”
Epilogue
Sam
Three years later…
“It’s such a beautiful day,” I tell Grant as we sit in our beach chairs, soaking up the warm August sun and watching our daughter build a sandcastle while the tide rolls in.
“Yes, it is. A perfect day,” he agrees. “You better enjoy these stress-free days before you start law school in a few weeks.”
“Oh, it won’t be that bad,” I tell him, excited and nervous about how tough the classes will be.
“You’re gonna do great,” Grant assures me with a squeeze of my hand in his. “Don’t forget that you’ve already accomplished more than most law students in their first year practicing.”
“I don’t know about all that,” I tell him.
“One of these days you’re gonna have to learn how to take a compliment,” he says.
“Well, you give me enough that I think some are starting to take hold.”
“Good. It’s about time.”
“Mommy! Daddy! Look what I found!” Adalyn exclaims excitedly when she gets to her feet and runs over to our chairs, her long, dark hair blowing in the breeze.
I’m expecting to see a seashell in her hand, not a… “Oh wow. That’s someone’s ring!” I say when I lift the white gold band from her palm to inspect it. “Holy cow, this diamond is huge!”
“Seriously?” Grant asks. “Let me see.”
I drop it right into the middle of his hand, or at least I thought I did.
“Shoot,” Grant says as the beautiful ring falls into the sand. He goes to his knees and starts digging around for it. “Are you sure it was real?” he asks me.
“Oh, it was definitely real. It was gorgeous,” I tell him as I bend down to try and help dig around for it.
“Found it!” Grant says, holding up the sparkling ring between his finger and thumb.
“Good. I bet someone is going crazy looking for it,” I remark, glancing up and down the Virginia Beach coast for potential owners.
“I don’t think so,” Grant disagrees. “In fact, I think you should try it on.”
“What?” I exclaim. “Don’t be silly.”
“Sam,” he says, using his no-nonsense tone with me.
That’s when I finally realize that not only is Grant still down on one knee, but he’s holding a diamond ring up to me…
“It’s yours?” I gasp in surprise.
“Technically it’s yours. If you want i
t,” he replies with a grin. “I should’ve given this to you a long time ago, but between getting into a practice in Raleigh, you finishing school, and then moving here, well, it took a little longer than I expected.”
“Oh wow,” I mutter in surprise as Grant takes my left hand and slips the ring onto my finger, right above my wedding band. “It’s so beautiful,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
“No, baby. Thank you for giving me a daughter and making my life complete,” he says when he gets to his feet. “You and Adalyn are my everything.”
“I love you,” I tell him as I wind my arms around his neck to kiss him.
“Eww, yuck,” Adalyn says, making me and Grant laugh.
“If Mommy and Daddy kiss enough, a brother or sister might start growing in Mommy’s tummy,” he tells our daughter, causing me to slap him in his chest in warning. Even though we just found out I’m pregnant again, we had decided to wait until the second trimester to tell Adalyn she’s going to be a big sister.
“Keep kissing! Keep kissing!” Adalyn chants while jumping up and down.
While we were not planning to have any more babies until I graduated from law school in three years, like most of the wonderful things in our life, it just sort of happened as a wonderful surprise. It won’t be easy to juggle school and being a mother to two little ones, but as with everything else Grant and I have faced over the years, I know that as long as we’re together, everything will work out just fine.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times bestselling author Lane Hart lives in North Carolina with her husband, author D.B. West, their two daughters, a few lazy cats and a pair of rambunctious Pomeranians. When Lane's not writing she spends her free time relaxing at the beach while looking for sea turtles in the summer months and cheering on the Carolina Panthers in the fall.
Connect with Lane:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/WritingfromHart
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/lanehartbooks
Website: http://www.lanehartbooks.com
Email: [email protected]
Find all of Lane’s books on her Amazon author page!
If you’re new to the Cocky Cage Fighter series, keep reading to enjoy the entire first book, Jax, for free!
Jax
A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel
By Lane Hart
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue were created from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted and trademarked status of various products within this work of fiction.
© 2015 Editor's Choice Publishing
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator” at the address below.
Editor’s Choice Publishing
P.O. Box 10024
Greensboro, NC 27404
Edited by Wendy Ely
Cover by vocaldesign
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Photo ©canstockphoto.com
WARNING: THIS BOOK IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES 18+ ONLY AND CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEX SCENES AND ADULT LANGUAGE!
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Page Davenport
I tap my perfectly manicured nails rhythmically over the laptop keys while watching the clock. I'm bored out of my mind waiting for this “urgent and extremely important” meeting to commence. The one my father's secretary said would begin promptly at three p.m. sharp.
And he's late.
But really, what else is new?
Ever since I started full-time at the firm, I've felt like dad's errand girl. While some of his requests have actually involved trips to the United States Attorney's Office, my responsibilities in the building only included delivering or picking up documents. I've also been assigned the extremely important task of hole-punching a thousand pages of discovery before organizing them into binders. And last, but certainly not least, to remind me I'm the lowest on the totem pole he's actually sent me out to pick up his freaking lunch! I keep wanting to remind him that there is, in fact, a law degree hanging in my office, just like the one in his. I may have only recently graduated and passed several state bars, but being treated like a freaking intern is getting tiresome.
"Page," my father says when he breezes quickly into the room. "Sorry I'm late, got held up on a conference call. We may have just settled our trade secret violation case with SynTech for a million."
"Good for you," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. It's not much since I know our clients are making a killing stealing their old company's ideas.
My dad, Miles Davenport, has always specialized in corporate law. My older brother, Logan Davenport, is an expert at patent law. My uncle, John Davenport, has been doing wills and estates for twenty-five years. All three areas of law put me to sleep faster than an elephant-sized tranquilizer dart. I'm still trying to figure out my specialty; what cases I'll actually enjoy doing for the long-term.
The senior Davenport settles into the rolling chair at the head of the conference room table, slapping down a brown accordion file in front of him with a thud. Could it be that he's actually going to give me a real case to handle on my own? Usually the closest I get to a case is when I'm assigned research projects for him or my brother.
"Our three o'clock is late, not that I'm surprised. His father just posted his bond this morning, so they probably got held up at the jail," he tells me while checking his phone.
Oh no, no, no. I'll practice any area of law, but I won't do…
"It’s a new criminal case," my father says, grinning greedily from ear to ear.
Criminal?
Represent miscreants? He can't be serious. There are two attorneys in our firm who do all of the criminal work. Ryan handles the state court cases, and Mark takes all the federal cases. So why the heck is my dad, a corporate attorney, talking to a potential criminal client?
"I'm sure you've heard of him, Jackson Malone, the famous MMA fighter?" he asks. I probably dislocated my jaw based on the speed at which it hit the wooden table. "His head coach, Don Briggs, and I grew up together. Don called me this morning and asked if we'd take his case."
"You mean Jackson ‘The Mauler’ Malone, the man who raped and strangled a woman?" I ask in horror. It's been all over the news ever since the story first broke three days ago.
"Innocent until proven guilty, remember?" my father says, finally glancing up at me to raise a condescending gray eyebrow that matches his perfectly combed hair.
"Yeah, that's the motto of all criminals," I snort. "So what am I doing here?"
"You're going to represent him," he says, sliding the file across the table to me.
"Like hell I am!" I exclaim, jumping to my feet and raising my voice at my father for probably only the third time in all my twenty-four years. "I don't have any criminal law experience other than a summer internship with the DA's office, and even if I did have experience, I wouldn't represent him!"
"You are," he says with the narrowed cobalt blue eyes I inherited, and the cold tone of final
ity I've always dreaded. It means he isn't going to budge, and there's no convincing him to change his stubborn mind. "This is going to be a huge case. Not only is he going to pay us a small fortune, but the national publicity we'll get will be incredible! It's also exactly what you need, to put yourself in the spotlight to boost Elliot's campaign."
Oh please! Like I give a rat's bare bottom about Elliot's campaign. I don't even bother responding to that nonsense.
"There are nine other attorneys in this firm, why can't one of them do it? You know, maybe one that has actual criminal courtroom experience," I argue.
"You and Logan are the only ones who've passed the bar in New Jersey, which has jurisdiction in this case. And you're the only female in the office. It'll look better to the media and the jurors to see a woman sitting beside Mr. Malone at the defense table. Don't worry, Ryan will carry the brunt of the load."
Oh no. Now I'm starting to understand. My father isn't giving me this case because he thinks I deserve it. No, he wants me to be the sacrificial lamb. The woman the media and feminist groups will all tear into for representing a chauvinistic pig. He really doesn't give one shit...ake mushroom about my reputation. After this case, I'll be nationally known as the idiot woman who represented the rapist jerk. Speaking of…
My dad's secretary cracks the conference room door, and announces in her nauseatingly sweet voice, "Mr. Davenport, the Malones are here."
I have a slight dislike of Margo. Okay, maybe a tad more than slight. She's so freaking pleasant, it's obviously fake. As soon as her back turns her smile falls and is replaced with a gaping maw of gossip, spewing filth to anyone who will listen.
"Show them in," my father instructs her while straightening his blood red tie, the color appropriately representing his strict conservatism. Then he turns to me, and says, "Be nice, and don't you dare fuck this up," sternly through his clenched teeth.
