Love Irresistibly (FBI/U.S. Attorney)

by Julie James

  “I bought some book of poetry I saw at the bookstore. One that didn’t look totally uncool,” Zach said. “But it’s been a busy week. I haven’t had a chance to give it to Paige yet.”

  Busy week? The kid was on summer vacation. From the way Zach was squirming right then, Cade had a sneaking suspicion his brother was still nervous about talking to the girl. “You said she works at an ice-cream shop around here, right?” He made a big show of wiping the sweat off his brow. “Come to think of it, a nice double cone would really hit the spot in this heat.”

  Zach’s expression was one of pure teenage mortification. “Yeah, because that’s exactly what will help my inability to talk to her—my older brother watching and critiquing all my moves.”

  “I thought we’d already established that you don’t have any moves.”

  “Now that’s funny. Picking on someone half your age. Hey, here’s an idea: I’ll introduce you to Paige as soon as I meet this so-called smart, witty, and hot woman you’re supposedly seeing. Sounds a lot like one of those made-up girlfriends who live in Niagara Falls.”

  “She’s real. I’m seeing her tonight, in fact.” They hadn’t decided their specific plans yet, but Brooke had texted him last night, asking if he was free.

  “Wow. You actually, like, beamed when you said that.”

  “Get out of here,” Cade scoffed. “I did not.”

  “What’s her name?”

  Cade opened his mouth to answer, then paused.

  Zach grinned. “Worried you can’t say it without beaming again?”

  Ridiculous. “Her name is Brooke.” He deliberately maintained a straight face.

  Zach made a big show of studying him, presumably looking for any sign of this alleged “beaming.” He stepped closer and then, with a comically scrutinizing face, slowly looked at one side of Cade’s face, and then the other.

  Cade never cracked once.

  Finally, Zach gave up. “Dude, I’m impressed. You need to show me that trick.” His cell phone suddenly rang from the backpack he’d left on the grass.

  “What trick?” Cade asked. His prosecutorial, I-ask-the-questions-I-don’t-answer-them face? Just another trick in his trial arsenal, a close cousin to his equally impressive don’t- bullshit-me face.

  “How to hide your true feelings so well.” With a sly grin, Zach reached across the grass and pulled the phone out of his backpack. “It’s my mom. I should probably take this.” He stood up and walked off a few feet to talk in private.

  Cade watched as Zach answered the phone, his brother’s words still hanging in the air. How to hide your true feelings so well. He knew Zach had made the comment in jest, part of his teasing about Brooke. But, in reality, it wasn’t all that far off the mark.

  I envy you, he’d told Zach the first time they’d met.

  Because I’m a mess?

  No. Because you’re not afraid to be a mess.

  Seeing that Zach was still talking to his mother, Cade reached over and pulled his cell phone out of the duffle bag.

  He shot a quick text message to Brooke. I’VE DECIDED THAT I’M TAKING YOU OUT FOR DINNER TONIGHT, CINDERELLA.

  A few moments later, he got a reply.

  THE SOON-TO-BE ACTING U.S. ATTORNEY HAS COMMANDED, AND SO IT SHALL BE.

  He laughed at that. She was a saucy one, all right. He wrote back. YOU ARE ALLOWED TO SHOW YOUR PLEASURE. PICK YOU UP AT 7:00.

  She fired back a response. 7:30.

  He smiled at the inside joke. OF COURSE YOU WOULD SAY 7:30.

  Cade tossed his phone into his bag just as Zach walked back over.

  “Sorry about that.” Zach shoved his phone into his backpack and took a seat on the grass. “My mom needed to talk to me about a few things.”

  “No problem.” Cade looked out at the field before them. He felt good right then, really good, which was probably what prompted him to look sideways at Zach and say what he did next. “I want you to do something for me.”

  Zach shrugged earnestly. “Sure. What?”

  “Go long,” Cade said, meeting his brother’s gaze through his sunglasses. “Just once.”

  After a moment, Zach nodded. “Okay.”

  Cade grabbed the football and stood up. He walked to the far end of the field, and watched as Zach took his place to the right of him, at the line of scrimmage.

  “Blue Cross Blue Shield?” Zach called out.

  “Yep.” In the zone now, Cade mentally readied himself and called the play. He faked the snap and dropped back.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zach take off at top speed, and everything else faded away. He could still perfectly envision the wall of purple Wildcats jerseys in front of him, could hear the roar of the crowd that day in Pasadena. Mere seconds left on the clock, but this moment was his, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as his wide receiver headed for the end zone. In his peripheral vision he saw the linebacker charging around the line, gunning for the sack, but screw him—victory was so close he could taste it and nothing was going to get in his way. He pulled back and threw hard, stepping back to watch as the football sailed through the air in a perfect spiral.

  About seven yards short.

  Readjusting quickly, Zach cut forward and dove for the ball. He caught it midair in his fingertips and landed in a sprawl on the field.

  He held the ball up victoriously. “First down!”

  Cade broke into a wide grin and headed over. If this had been a real game, he would’ve just thrown an embarrassing interception and probably been booed off the field. But he’d take the moment nevertheless.

  When he reached Zach, he held out his left hand and helped him off the grass. “Now that was some fast footwork.” He slapped him across the shoulders.

  Zach grinned, boyishly proud. “Thanks.” He pointed to Cade’s right shoulder. “We’re done?”

  Cade nodded, wincing at the sharp twinge in his shoulder. “Oh, yeah. We’re done.”

  Twenty-two

  THIS TIME, BROOKE was ready to go when Cade showed up at her apartment. With her schedule, she didn’t get a date night often, so she’d spent a few extra minutes—okay, maybe a lot of extra minutes—on her hair and makeup and had slipped on a cute pair of jeans with her heels.

  Cade eyes traveled over her when she answered the door, coming to rest on her shoes. “Are those the ones from Monday night?”

  “They are.”

  He stepped inside her apartment and kicked the door shut.

  Well, then.

  “I have good memories of those shoes.” With a warm gleam in his eye, he reached up and cupped the nape of her neck, leaning in to kiss her.

  Hmm. She might have to wear these shoes all the time around Cade, if they put him in this good of a moo—

  He jerked back, cursing under his breath.

  Brooke blinked in surprise, still feeling the warm press of his lips on hers. “Um . . . what just happened?”

  He winced, rotating his arm gingerly. “I reached around to grab your ass.”

  “And . . . it electrocuted you?”

  He chucked her under the chin. “No, sassy. My shoulder’s a little sore after playing football today.”

  That was news to her. “I didn’t know you still played football.”

  “I don’t. I was helping out someone else and got caught up in the moment.”

  Someone who? Brooke nearly asked, then decided against it. If Cade didn’t want to let her in on this mysterious thing going on with him, she wasn’t going to pry it out of him. “Did you take anything for the pain?”

  He brushed this off. “I iced it earlier. I don’t need anything for the pain.”

  Men. “We can stay in and take it easy tonight, Cade. It’s no big deal.”

  “I’m fine.” He raised an eyebrow, as if daring her to contradict that.

  “Okay,” she said, with a shrug. If that was how he wanted to play this, she’d go along with it.

  For now.

  * * *

  BROOKE H
AD TO admit, Cade put on a really good tough-guy act.

  If this had been a first date, she probably wouldn’t have noticed that anything was wrong. Not surprisingly, he was nearly pitch-perfect in covering up the fact that something was bothering him. He was charming as ever, he asked about her workweek, made her laugh, and told several interesting anecdotes about life as an assistant U.S. attorney. But by now she knew him well enough to pick up on the little signs, like the way he’d reached with his left hand to open the restaurant door for her. Or how his jaw had tensed slightly when he’d needed to use his right hand to cut his steak.

  Going along with the charade, she said nothing through dinner, nor through their dessert of flourless chocolate cake, nor during the cab ride back to her building. Instead, she waited until they got inside her apartment.

  “I have something for you,” she said with a deliberately mischievous air.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I like the sound of that.”

  She led him into the kitchen.

  “More champagne?” he joked.

  She shook her head. “Better.”

  She took out a glass and filled it with water. His expression was one of confusion at first, then he made a face when she reached into a second cabinet and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen.

  “That’s my surprise?” He looked like a boy who’d been given socks for Christmas.

  Brooke dumped two caplets into her hand and held them out. “Humor me.”

  After a big show of scoffing and grunts of disapproval, Cade popped the pills into his mouth and took a drink of water.

  “Do you miss playing?” she asked.

  She figured he’d most likely fluff her off with his answer, the same way he’d nonchalantly handled her friends’ questions at the Cubs/Sox game. But it was something she’d been wondering about ever since watching the Rose Bowl video, and she just wanted . . . to ask.

  Instead, he surprised her by looking at her for a long moment. “Yes.”

  That quiet, simple admission tugged at Brooke’s heart. She’d seen his passion for the sport in the video, and his incredible talent, yet he hadn’t given up when football had been taken away from him. Instead, he’d channeled that drive and confidence into his legal career and had made a name for himself as federal prosecutor.

  In her business, she worked with successful men and women all the time. But Cade Morgan . . . impressed her.

  She came around the counter and held out her hand. “Come with me.”

  His expression was skeptical. “What is it this time? A heating pad?”

  “Not a heating pad,” she promised. But he was on the right track.

  She led him into her white-marbled bathroom and headed to the oversized shower. Without saying a word, she reached in and turned on both the rain showerhead and the jets.

  “Now this seems more promising,” he said.

  “I thought you might see it that way.” Brooke lifted her shirt over her head, and then toed off her shoes. She undid her jeans and slid them down her hips and off.

  Her bra hit the floor next, and then her underwear.

  Cade’s eyes were on her the entire time. Instinctively, he reached for the buttons on his shirt, then grunted in pain and dropped his right arm in frustration.

  Brooke crossed the room to him. “I’ll get that.” She stepped close and began to undo the buttons on his shirt.

  “Just in case you were getting any tricky ideas, I still have one good arm to throw you over my shoulder.”

  She looked up at him. “I get the nothing-fazes-me routine, Cade. I really do. But tonight, let me take care of you.”

  She saw a flicker of emotions cross his face, before he answered huskily.

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  CADE WATCHED AS Brooke finished undoing the buttons of his shirt, then carefully eased it off his shoulders. She freed his good arm first and then, gently, his other one. She smoothed her hands down his chest, and he sucked in his breath when her fingers brushed across his stomach.

  She moved her hands to the button of his jeans, and thankfully wasted no time in undoing his fly. He helped her out, using his good arm to push his jeans and boxer briefs over his hips. He kicked them off with his shoes, then stood before her, naked.

  Brooke took his hand and led him toward the shower, her dark gold hair tumbling down her back. She stepped inside and leaned her head back under the spray, looking like a goddess with the water streaming down her body.

  Cade didn’t need an invitation. He stepped inside the shower and shut the door, closing his eyes as steam swirled around him and six jets pulsed against his skin. He growled low in approval when he felt Brooke press her warm, wet body against his.

  “Keep your eyes closed and take a step back,” she said.

  “You’re naked and wet. My eyes aren’t staying closed for long.”

  “Trust me. You’ll like this.”

  He couldn’t resist such a promise. Cade stepped back and inhaled sharply when one of the jets hit his sore shoulder. Then he relaxed as the hot water slowly began to work its magic. He tipped his head back, giving in. “That feels great.” He felt Brooke move around, then she stepped onto the marble bench behind him.

  Her soft hands rested lightly on his shoulders. “Tell me if I do anything that hurts.”

  She slid her hands down his chest, her fingertips like silk against his skin as the water beat over him. His erection swelled as her hands began to caress him in a sensual massage, soothing the muscles of his chest, arms, and back.

  It felt like . . . heaven.

  For several minutes, Cade did nothing except enjoy the sensation of Brooke’s hands and the pulsing water running over his body. He leaned back, his head resting against the lush curves of her breasts. She was careful around his sore shoulder, avoiding those muscles and letting the water, steam, and ibuprofen loosen him up. But then she lowered her mouth and kissed his neck, and by then he was so sensitized from the heat, the jets, and from her massage that he groaned.

  She pulled back. “Does that hurt?”

  “No.” Needing more than just her hands, or a teasing kiss, he turned around and snaked his good arm around her waist. He lifted her off the marble ledge, crushing his mouth to hers. As they kissed, he slid her down his body, skin to skin, until her feet touched the ground.

  She pulled back from the kiss. “I’m supposed to be doing all the work,” she reminded him breathlessly.

  Cade pressed her against the shower wall, the jets pulsing against his back as his cock pulsed against her. Unable to resist, he rubbed the tip of his shaft between her soft folds, fighting for control. “I need to be in you, Brooke.”

  She looked up into his eyes, and whatever she saw made her meld her mouth to his while fumbling to turn off the water. He pushed open the shower door with his good arm, and in a tangle of towels, hands, legs, and mouths, they landed on the plush oversized rug in front of the bathtub.

  Brooke reached over, opened one of the drawers in her vanity, and pulled out a condom. She ripped it open and slid it over him, then she straddled his hips and slowly eased onto him, inch by sweet, heavenly inch.

  Her eyes opened and met his just at the moment when he was fully buried inside. Cade’s chest pulled tight at the intimacy of the moment, and he was filled with a sudden need for more.

  He pushed up on his elbows, not giving a shit about the pain in his shoulder, and pulled her in for a kiss. He eased back to the ground, bringing her with him and holding tight, wanting to be as close as he could get as she began moving over him.

  Twenty-three

  ON MONDAY, CADE sat at the head of the table in a trial-prep room—a “war room” as they were called around the office—directing his team as they worked through the massive evidence database they’d put together in the Sanderson case.

  The war room served a dual function: a place where the trial team could meet, since no AUSA had an office large enough to comfortably accommodate ten people; and it als
o served as the storage room where they would maintain the many boxes of evidence in the case.

  Discovery would begin soon, and Cade wanted to make sure that they had everything in order and that all the evidence was accounted for. As such, he’d gathered the team he and Cameron had assembled: Rylann, who would cochair the case along with him; two midlevel AUSAs from the special prosecutions group; and two paralegals. Along with them were Huxley and Vaughn, as well as two other FBI agents who’d assisted them in monitoring the various recorded conversations throughout the investigation. They all sat around the table, everyone armed with either an open laptop or iPad as they worked their way through the database.

  “And we’ve got all the records for wire transfers and deposits into Diamond Strategic Development’s accounts?” Cade asked Vaughn and Huxley, referring to the shell company Senator Sanderson had created to hide the funds he’d collected as bribes.

  Huxley nodded. “Boxes twenty-three through twenty-eight.”

  As the paralegals made notes to the database, Cade moved on to the next item. “I know we have the call index . . . speaking of which, what’s the status on the audio recordings?”

  “You have all of them,” Vaughn said. “The only thing you don’t have is the video of Sanderson and Torino’s meeting at Sogna. The forensic lab has the original footage we took from the restaurant on a hard drive; they just haven’t had a chance to transfer it to a DVD. I’ll follow up with them next week if we still don’t have it.”

  “They’ve had the video for four weeks. Tell them I want my copy by Friday or I’ll drive over to the FBI lab and burn it onto a DVD myself.”

  “I’m pretty sure that would violate the chain of custody,” Vaughn said, never missing a chance to be a smart-ass.

  “You guys worry about chain of custody?” Rylann joked. “Wow. Such sticklers.”

  They continued that way for the rest of the afternoon, with everyone good-natured despite the fact that double-checking evidence logs was undoubtedly one of the most tedious parts of an AUSA’s and special agent’s job. They made it until six o’clock and finally called it a day.