Defending Justice: A Justice Team Novel

by Misty Evans

  “She’s quite the fireball.”

  Beck chuckled. “You have no idea. I’m totally nuts about her, Tay.”

  “She seems pretty enamored with you too.”

  He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “I’m not one to do the whole Sunday dinner kind of thing, but Jackie is. I’d like all of you—Matt, the sisters, Grey and Sydney, everybody—to come have dinner with Jackie and I on Sunday if you’re up for it. I’ll make something special.”

  Taylor’s eyes widened. “You’ve never invited me to your place before.”

  He grabbed Janiece’s folder and took the stack of files from Taylor’s desk. “Yeah, well, you know. We’re family. That’s what families do, according to Jackie.”

  Taylor smiled. “Look at you, turning over a new leaf.”

  He glanced down at the files. Too many. There always were. Too many families missing a member. He wondered if his family ever missed him, but the ache he usually felt over them had mellowed. His situation with them hadn’t changed, but that was okay. He had. “I better get to work on the Coriann Muellers’ case, and Janiece is waiting for her coffee.”

  “You didn’t bring me tea?”

  “Tomorrow, boss. I will tomorrow.”

  She got up and came around the desk to follow him out. “Then I’ll take a cup of that coffee when it’s ready.”

  As he stepped into the hall, he saw his coworkers had gathered at the other end.

  “Well?” Janiece called.

  “It’s official,” Taylor said.

  A cheer went up and clapping echoed down the hall.

  She patted Beck on his good shoulder. “Welcome back, Agent Pearson. Welcome back.”

  * * *

  Clothes.

  Clothes.

  Clothes.

  Skirts and pants, blazers and cardigans. Edgy blouses with pops of color. Prints for heaven’s sake.

  Jackie stood over her bed shaking her head at the array of combinations Beck had artfully arranged for her. Lost under it all was her smothered comforter, probably begging for oxygen. It wasn’t enough that Mr. Vogue dragged her—literally—to his favorite clothing store in Georgetown, but he’d forced her to spend five hours there. Five long hours of stripping down and redressing over and over and over in every item he’d brought her. The man was relentless. With the way he liked to shop, and let’s face it, his excellent taste, he should be the woman in their relationship.

  All that aside, her fantasy of burying him alive in a landfill was overtaken by the amazing wardrobe he’d just outfitted her with. Even if that wardrobe set her debit card ablaze.

  She needed this. This moving on from her plain suits and grinding routine that she blamed on a lack of time for anything but her career. In short, Jackie needed a life. With Beck, the man who knew how to spice things up in oh-so-many ways.

  A vision of him from inside her shower that morning, all rugged muscle and five percent body fat, brought a burst of heat to her cheeks. Maybe, after the damned fashion show Beck insisted on, she’d strip out of these clothes and do him right on her sofa. Talk about spicing up her life.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Spicy, spicy.”

  She picked up the emerald blue blouse and white pencil skirt he’d paired together. The skirt was too tight. At least she thought so. Beck, of course, squashed that, insisting it fit perfectly. So she liked things a little roomy? Apparently her days of comfort were gone. She shimmied into the skirt, sucking in her stomach as she zipped and then adjusted it the way he’d instructed. She’d need an extra twenty minutes in the morning for all this primping.

  She turned to the full-length mirror, took in the image of herself in the tight skirt and push-up bra she’d tucked into her purchases when Beck was storming the clothing racks. Holy smokes. She set her shoulders, tilted her chin up.

  That’s me.

  And I’m sexy.

  Go figure. Damned Beck.

  Seeing herself like this, her mind skipped back to the night she’d met him. In Ft. Lauderdale where she’d been wearing that stretchy dress that hugged her curves. Oddly enough, she’d never again worn anything as provocative. How could she after the mess it had left her in? Or maybe she simply didn’t want reminders of that weekend with Beck. That amazing, exquisite time she’d never been able to replicate.

  Until now.

  Until Beck came back.

  “Jackie!” he hollered from the living room. “Stop thinking so much and get out here. You’ll look great. I promise.”

  He promised. Coming from him, she believed it.

  She eased her arms into the blouse sleeves enjoying the brush of delicate fabric against her skin. She’d have to be careful with this one. No more jamming her arms in while running for the front door with a bagel hanging from her mouth.

  One way or another, Beck, his herbal tea and good taste, would slow her down, forcing her to live in the moment.

  She finished buttoning the blouse, leaving the extra one open as he’d told her. She glanced in the mirror at the hint of cleavage that said confidence rather than slut.

  I can do this.

  Because, yes, she looked damned good. She swept her hair over her shoulder, making a mental note about her overdue salon appointment. By the time she got done with this little makeover, Beck would beg her for sex every night.

  Maybe even lunchtime quickies.

  She’d make him insane. Wouldn’t that be delish?

  Bad, Jackie. Bad.

  “Jackie!”

  She flinched and spun back. As crazy about him as she was, he’d just about snapped her last nerve. “Hey! Don’t rush me. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

  The bedroom door swung open and Beck stood there, his gaze roaming over her in a slow, dissecting perusal that kicked her pulse up. How pissed could she be when he looked at her with such want?

  “Shoes.” He pointed. “Try the beige strappy ones.”

  “Well, if you’d been patient, I was getting to it.”

  She bent low and rummaged through the shoe boxes scattered on her floor, shoving the lids and boxes aside as she searched for the beige sandals that were high enough to knock her on her ass.

  “You’re killing me,” he said. “When you’re done modeling all this stuff, we’ll tackle organizing your closet. It’ll take a trip to the hardware store for shelving, but we’ll get it done.”

  “Yes, commandant.”

  Beck laughed and spun away. “I’ll wait in the living room.”

  Oh, come on! He’d already seen the damned outfit, now he wanted her to do that whole catwalk thing?

  “Seriously?” she asked.

  “Seriously. I need to see you move in those clothes.”

  “Oh, I’ll move in them,” she muttered.

  She sat on the bed and wrestled with the sandals’ ankle straps for a solid five minutes. Forget dragging herself out of bed twenty minutes earlier. If she had to deal with these shoes, it’d be at least thirty.

  “Any time now!” her beloved pain in the ass called.

  “I’m coming.”

  Three steps in, her ankles wobbled on the high heels and she set one hand on the doorframe. I can do this.

  Ruling a courtroom was nothing compared to balancing on these stilts. Focus. She sucked in her belly, tightening her core for stability—got it—and marched down the hallway channeling Shark Jackie, about to deliver her summation. She swung into the living room, head high, shoulders back. The new clothes, somehow, matched her courtroom style. Direct and no-nonsense.

  “Holy crap,” Beck said from his spot on the sofa. “Those shoes are hot.”

  “Good, because putting them on sucks.”

  He lifted one finger, whirled it in the air. Now he wanted a 360 view?

  Come on, really?

  “You promised,” he said.

  Yes, she had. As his payment for styling her, she’d promised him a fashion show. God help her. But the way he was looking at her, Beck didn’t seem all that interested in the cl
othes.

  Maybe she’d exact her revenge by driving him half mad with lust. Make him wait until she’d modeled every damned outfit before she got within five feet of him. That’d teach him.

  Slowly, she eased around, giving him her back and pausing to cock one hip so he’d get a nice long look at her ass. The one he’d told her that morning he loved having his hands on.

  “Oh, man,” he said. “You are evil.”

  Calling on her inner sex kitten—who the hell even knew she had one?—she peered over her shoulder, waited for his hungry eyes to meet hers. “You think this is bad,” she said, “it’s only going to get worse.”

  Then she pushed it a tad further, breaking eye contact and staring at his crotch where the unmistakable bulge of an erection gave her another rush of heat. And satisfaction.

  Only, the latter didn’t feel so sweet. It felt…lonely. As if her plan shouldn’t be the plan at all.

  Ignoring Shark Jackie and her passion for the win, she turned again, went for the top button of her blouse. Totally off-script here.

  The second button popped and Beck took a sharp inhale. “Oh, God. Are you gonna…?”

  “You bet I am.” Another button. “I’m going to strip for you. Inch, by tiny little inch. By the time I’m done with you, Beck Pearson, you’ll be begging.”

  A lecherous smile flashed. So much for bringing him down.

  “Bring it on, babe,” he said.

  He wanted to play. Good for him. So did she. In no particular rush, she worked her fingers down the remaining buttons, popping each one while keeping her gaze on Beck’s. He blew her a kiss along the way, letting her know he was enjoying the show. That made two of them. Who knew Shark Jackie had it in her?

  Maybe she just needed the right man. This man.

  She peeled the blouse off, letting it slide down her arms. Beck watched as it dangled from her fingertips, but then shifted his focus to the lace push-up bra.

  He rested his head against the sofa and let out a long breath. “Look at you, going rogue and buying something extra.”

  “I thought you’d like it,” she said.

  “You thought right.”

  She let the blouse drop to the floor and took two steps toward him, working the zipper on the skirt as she walked. By the time she reached him, she’d hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the skirt, ready to do away with it. Ready to have Beck’s hands on her. And hers on him.

  “Wait.” He sat forward, reaching for her hips and their eyes locked for a few long seconds that sent Jackie’s body temp soaring. “I’ll do it,” he said.

  Jackie let go of the skirt, but the crazy urge to touch him was too much. Bending over, she cradled his face in her hands. Her breasts spilled over the tops of the bra cups and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He touched her, pressed the backs of his fingers against her nipples before unclasping the bra. In seconds, it was gone, tossed away. She kissed him, gently at first, then used her tongue to tangle with his until her nipples went so rigid it became painful.

  How did this man do this to her?

  Her skirt hit the floor and she stepped out of it, carefully kicking it to the side as Beck’s fingers slipped into the waistband of her underwear. Her plain cotton ones because she absolutely refused to put the matching pair to the bra on before washing them. At the sight of them, Beck smiled. He knew.

  He gripped the panties with both hands. “Jackie?”

  “Yes?”

  Rrrrippppp. He tore the underwear off her. Just like that, shredded them into two pieces and discarded them over his shoulder.

  “I guess I know how you feel about cotton.”

  He pulled her closer, kissed her belly while cupping his hands over her rear. After a minute, he looked up again, held her stare. Something in his eyes changed, a shift from the amped up heat of just seconds before. Something softer. She ran her hands over his cheeks. “What is it?”

  “I love you,” he said.

  He loved her. All these years, she’d waited to hear those words. Fantasized about it. Could it be? Finally?

  Yes.

  She straddled him, kissed him again. Hard. Nearly sucked his face off because holy, holy cow, after that amazing spring break together they’d found their way back.

  She broke the kiss. “I love you. I always have. Even when you hated me, I loved you. Now get those damned pants off.”

  With her still on top of him, he lifted his hips. She helped him with the zipper and then worked him free of his boxer briefs, more than ready for him. She wrapped her fingers around the hard length of him and he groaned.

  “I want you,” he said.

  She let go, propped herself over him, more than ready for the orgasm she knew would happen. “Ditto that.”

  Beck dug his fingers into her hips and pushed her down. He arched up, filling her and she gasped at the lovely intrusion.

  He moved in a slow agonizing pace that left her somewhere between frustration and ecstasy. The only one to ever do that to her.

  I love him.

  Yes, she did.

  Finally, he pumped his hips faster and faster and she met the challenge, moving with him, damn near grinding against him and the heat, ohmygod, the scorching heat was insane. She gripped his shoulders, hanging on so she wouldn’t tumble sideways and...yes, here we go. “I’m so…”

  She looked down at him, but his eyes were closed, his brows drawn with concentration. He lunged forward, locked his lips around her right breast, tugging on her sensitive nipple and she cried out, arching and grinding against him. Harder and harder and harder and...oh, yes. The explosion pulverized her, sent her mind reeling and she screamed his name, over and over as her body broke apart. He met the furious pace, hammering into her. She opened her eyes, let the last of the orgasm take her to that perfect place while she watched Beck’s face go taut.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, pumped one last time before his body stiffened under her and he reared up, gripping her ass so tight she might have finger marks for a week. Who cared. He cried out from the force of his own release and Jackie slumped forward, gasping as she cuddled into his chest.

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer. “I want you,” he said again. “Like this. Forever.”

  “It’s not a bad gig,” she said.

  “I’m serious.”

  She sat up, cocked her head. “What?”

  “Marry me.”

  Huh?

  Before she could speak, he plowed forward. “I’ve waited years for you. Even convinced myself I hated you. You know that saying about the fine line between love and hate? That’s me. With you.”

  Whoa. Jackie snapped her hands up. “Okay. Just hang on. Normal people smoke a cigarette or have a drink or whatever,” she rolled her hand, “you know, to enjoy the euphoria. Generally, they don’t ask a girl to marry them.”

  “I know what I want. Marry me.”

  He couldn’t be serious. Couldn’t be. But, oh, if he was. She cupped his cheeks, ran her thumbs over them while she searched for any sign of doubt.

  “Beck,” she said, “please. What if I say yes?”

  “I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

  “Ssshh. If I say yes and you realize you’re caught up in the moment, I’ll be devastated. If you change your mind, I’m telling you, I may bury you alive in that landfill after all.”

  “I’m not caught up. Not in the way you think. I love you. From that first night, you were everything I wanted. Funny, educated, smart-mouthed, and passionate. All of it in one nice, tidy Jackie ball. Marry me.”

  She studied him again, stared right into his eyes, Shark Jackie searching for the deception. She was good at that. Pegging the liars.

  Not this one. This one was rock solid and showing zero doubt. “If I say yes, promise me you won’t change your mind.”

  “I swear to you. I know what I want. It starts with you and ends with a bunch of babies. Jackie miniatures that’ll make me laugh and frustrate the goddamned da
ylights out of me when they don’t believe what I say.”

  Baby Jackies. She pictured it. The two of them running herd on a gaggle of stubborn kids.

  “I believe you. There’s a problem though.”

  He huffed. “Of course there is. Because nothing is easy with you. Look, if you don’t want to, just say it.”

  “The problem is, I want Baby Becks too. It’s a negotiating point. You agree or I leave the table. Or,” she waved a hand, “I suppose the sofa is our negotiating table. It’s a combo deal or we’re at a stalemate.”

  “You know,” he said, “you’re a pain in the ass.”

  “I know. Do we have a deal?”

  He held out his hand. “Deal. Marry me.”

  “Deal.” Ignoring his hand, she threw her arms around him, slammed him with a soul-sucking kiss. “I love you,” she said.

  “Good. Because we forgot the condom.” He smiled wide. “We might be working on that stable of kids already.”

  The condom! She sat back, met his smile with her own. “I think, Special Agent Pearson, you’re who I’ve been waiting for all these years. Even if my mother does kill us when we tell her we may be doing a shotgun wedding.”

  A Note to Readers

  Dear reader,

  Thank you for reading Defending Justice. We hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help others find it by writing a review.

  A few kind words left in a review can make a huge difference to an author and keep them inspired. We write for our fans and love hearing how much they enjoy a story. Reviews also help other readers decide to take the plunge and dive into the world of the Justice Team.

  So please consider taking a moment to write even a handful of words. Writing a review only takes a few minutes of your time. It doesn’t have to be a lengthy book report, just a few words expressing what you enjoyed most about the story is a huge help!

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