by Ann Jacobs
“A case. Aggravated assault. A kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time and defended himself a little too vigorously against a would-be robber. He just may have ruined his life. Gray’s handling his defense, and he’s pushing me not to file charges.” A frown furrowed her forehead, and a worried look shadowed her beautiful face. “Harper stuck me with the prosecution, and when I tell him it’s a lousy case that ought not to be pursued, he keeps reminding me how politically damaging it will be with the Latino community if we don’t go to trial.”
“What do you think is right?”
As he always had, Sam cut to the chase. No bullshit, no spin. Just the bottom line. Marcy wished the answer were so simple. “Right? For the accused, it would be right to let him walk. He’s not a criminal, but his so-called victim is. For me? I’ve got to do what my boss says if I want to keep my job.”
“Is this boss the same asshole who hired you ten years ago?”
“I’m afraid so. The voters keep re-electing him every four years. Harper’s the consummate political animal. Pity he isn’t more ambitious. If he were, he’d have moved onward and upward by now, and left us prosecutors in peace.” Marcy found it somehow comforting that Sam still kept his head in the sand when it came to local politics. A constant among the many changes that had taken place in him—and her.
“Do what’s right, baby. Let the bastard fire you. You’ve put up with Harper Wells too damn long. Go work for Winston Roe or one of the other big firms. They’d be stupid if they didn’t hire you the minute you let them know you’re available.” He sat on one of the wrought-iron benches and drew her down beside him. “Or become a lady of leisure. Stay home and let me support you, the way you said you wanted to do once I started making enough to keep us out of the poorhouse.”
Damn it. Sam knew how to throw a curve ball. Marcy had to clamp her lips shut to keep from blurting out a fast “yes” to his offhand proposition. “Mmm. Sounds good. Except I’m so used to working, I’d go stir crazy staring at the four walls of home all day. As for the other, I just may do it one of these days. It would be fun, debating the other side for a change—although I can’t say the idea of defending hardened criminals appeals all that much.”
He glanced around the patio as though he wanted to be sure that they were alone. “Want to cut out of here and find someplace really private?”
Marcy’s pussy twitched with anticipation, and her nipples poked against the soft fabric of her halter top. “That would depend on what you’ve got in mind, Doc.”
“Talk. Serious talk. Then fun. Trust me. Go tell Gray you’re letting his client off the hook, and say goodnight for us. I’ll meet you at home. Your home. Unless you’d rather go down to the marina. I can always borrow the keys to Rocky’s boat since the Lucky Lady’s stuck down in Port Charlotte for a few more days.”
“Neptune’s Dungeon? From the whispers I’ve heard around the office, I doubt we’d get much talking done on Rocky’s floating playpen. Let’s save that for another time. Tonight, let’s just go home.” Home to the lonesome room she’d frozen in time, the house that hadn’t been a home since she’d tossed him out and wouldn’t be again until they resolved their differences. Suddenly all the arguments she’d mustered against risking another broken heart seemed meaningless. “I’ll go make our excuses.”
She found Gray and Andi laughing over something with Tony and Kristine. “Excuse me. Gray, you can tell your client he won’t be facing prosecution after all.”
Gray left the group, limped over to a quiet corner where they wouldn’t be disturbed. “What changed your mind, Marcy?”
“Sam. He made me realize I’m not a slave to Harper—that I can always defect to the side of the defenders.” Suddenly she wanted him to know. “And he told me to do what I think is right. To drop the charges and let the shit hit the fan. That’s what I’m going to do, even if it means I’ll be unemployed by the end of the week.“
“Knowing Harper’s temper, I won’t argue that. But for what it’s worth, Stephen will thank you. I thank you.” A grin lit Gray’s face as he turned and yelled across the deck. “Tony, come here.”
The tall, compellingly handsome lawyer she’d come on to not all that long ago—to no avail, though he’d been gracious and spared her undue embarrassment—jogged over to them. “What’s up?”
“Marcy may not be working for the state attorney’s office much longer. I thought you might like to know.” Briefly, Gray explained the situation. “We owe Sam our thanks. He’s the one who told her to fuck Harper and do what she knew was right.”
“Another submissive female, huh? Strange I never noticed you rolling over and playing dead for me in court.” Tony shot her that little-boy grin that had female jurors practically falling over themselves to heed his every word. “Seriously, come on over to our side and see what it’s like, working regular hours, getting paid a living wage, and coming to know and love some of Tampa’s most notorious criminals. I’ve always got room for a trial lawyer as good as you.”
“Thanks. I just may be looking for that job, even though I’m sure what you mean by regular hours means regularly working twelve or fourteen hours a day, six or seven days a week, the way Andi assures me that Gray does. Come to think of it, I may decide to take Sam up on his offer to support me while I laze around the house. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for. Speaking of which, I hate to leave a great party, but I’m supposed to meet Sam at home.” She turned to Gray and held out her hand. “Thanks for inviting me. I’ll be filing the paperwork to drop charges on Katz first thing Monday morning.”
As she drove home, a kind of peace washed over Marcy. A lack of doubt or uncertainty. She wanted Sam. Not just in her bed but back in her life, no matter what emotional pain their reconciliation might bring.
* * * * *
A new moon shone brightly in the cloudless sky, illuminating the narrow brick driveway. Cool air blew through the car windows, leaving a pleasant, slightly salty scent after Sam closed them and shut off the engine. He got out and strode to the garage, saw the empty spot where he used to park. Felt a corresponding empty space in his heart.
A space only Marcy could fill.
She laid her hand in his, a gesture he found soft, warm and—he hoped—trusting. It felt right, walking hand in hand onto the polished hardwood foyer, up the staircase where they’d once pictured their children sliding down the gleaming banisters.
When they came to the closed door to the master bedroom, Marcy seemed to hesitate. “You said you wanted to talk. Maybe we should go downstairs first.”
“Sure. Too many ghosts in there?” Damn it, he wouldn’t let on that thinking about her with her other lovers tore him up inside.
“More like not enough. Just the ghosts of you and me.” She flung open the door and practically dragged him inside.
Sure his mind was playing tricks on him, he blinked. Not a single one of the details etched permanently in his mind had changed. Their bedroom looked the same as he remembered it, right down to the dark-blue paisley shawl draped over the back of the recliner next to the window. He’d brought that back to her from a medical convention in New York City a month or so before their split. “What the—”
“Nobody but the housekeeper has been in here since you left. Not even me, until today.”
She’d closed their private space off like some sort of macabre shrine? “Why?”
When she turned to face him, her eyes looked unnaturally bright. “I couldn’t come in here. Couldn’t stand the idea of disturbing the things we’d shared. Silly, isn’t it?”
He looped both arms loosely around her slender waist. “Think it might be because you knew someday we’d get together again?”
“Maybe.”
Nothing mattered. Not the lost years or the men she’d used to stave off loneliness. Not his guilt for having hurt her. Bending, Sam buried his face in the pale silk of Marcy’s hair. “I want to come home. Be your best friend again. Your lover. I want to give you a couple
of kids and watch them grow up as we grow old.”
She tilted her head and looked into his eyes. “But you said—”
“I know. Lie down. I need to see you stretched out on our bed, your pretty hair draped over your pillow. I’ll explain.”
When she did, he sat beside her, stroking the strip of satiny bare skin around her navel. “We both know I’m not completely sterile. I’ll help nature along the way I do for my patients who share my problem, by spinning down several semen samples and combining them to concentrate the sperm. Right here in our bed, when I know you’re ovulating, I’ll inject some of it directly into your uterus.”
“You think it will work?”
“Oh yeah. It will work.” Especially if he combined his puny sample with a potent one from the sperm bank. Patiently, he told Marcy exactly how the process worked, the way he always told his patients—except that his hand never left her skin, and he never let his gaze wander from her beloved face. “The babies will be ours. It won’t matter if they’ve got somebody else’s DNA.”
Five years ago he’d been too arrogant, too certain of his self-diagnosis to believe in the miracle they’d created and tragically lost. He’d been an idiot then. He wouldn’t be one now. This time their marriage would be forever, and their children would belong to them both, no matter whose seed made them. “I love you, baby. So damn much it hurts.”
“Then come here. Show me.” Her eyes softened to the deep-sea green he remembered so well, and her lips curved upward in the sassy smile that had stolen his heart.
Reaching behind her, she undid her halter top. It fell away, revealing her beautiful breasts…the pert nipples that begged for the touch of his hands, his mouth. Ravenous, Sam ripped off his shirt and toed off his loafers while she wriggled out of her slacks and panties, baring her satiny mound…the tempting little bud of her clit. Her gaze scorched him, made his cock swell painfully and his balls tighten.
Damn it, why wouldn’t his belt come loose? Probably had a lot to do with his hard-on, and the fact he couldn’t tear his gaze off Marcy. There, finally. He shoved his pants and underwear down and kicked them away. Slowly, for he had trouble believing this was real and not an incredibly erotic dream, Sam stretched out above her on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. “Baby, you don’t know how much I’ve needed this. Needed you.”
Marcy needed him just as much. She smiled up at him when he flexed his hips and thrust into her slick, wet cunt. “Welcome home, Sam. Stop talking and take me. Make love to me the way I’ve dreamed you would.”
He loved her with slow, easy thrusts of his long, thick cock into her wet, willing pussy. Long hot kisses and light nips at the sensitive flesh of her throat, the upper curve of her breasts each spoke of Sam’s love more eloquently than any words he might say. Any gift he might give her.
She was aroused, yet the frantic need to come that had driven her so long seemed to have disappeared and been replaced with a sense of quiet assurance. Sam would take care of her.
Last weekend she’d faced death, and he’d come to her as she’d never dreamed he might. They’d clung together in the eye of the storm when neither of them had known if their next moment might be their last. And they’d relearned—at least she had—that there was more to loving than fucking, so much more to fucking than a hard cock and a ready pussy.
“Ooh. Don’t stop.” Not that she didn’t appreciate Sam’s big shaft stretching and filling her. She did. It was just that the whole sex thing worked better when there was love driving the act. Love for his innate goodness and decency…for his need to master her in every way. Adoration for his hard, muscular body and pride that his looks made other women stare at her with envy.
God, she loved touching him, stroking his tanned, satiny skin and feeling rock-hard muscles twitch under her seeking fingers. The rasp of his beard stubble, the lightly callused pads of his fingers on her cheeks…even the faint scent of the cologne he’d used since she blew two weeks’ allowance to buy him some to wear for her senior prom worked to keep her body at a slow, delicious simmer.
He took his time, almost as though it were their first time—her first time. Conventional, loving sex—the way a bridegroom might take his virgin bride. With every stroke Sam claimed her, decisively but with love.
So much love. An aura surrounded them as the pressure built up in her body. He gritted his teeth, obviously hard-pressed to wait, determined to ensure her pleasure before taking his own. Marcy had never wanted to satisfy a man so much—not even Sam when they’d been kids. Digging her fingers into his shoulders and wrapping her legs hard around his narrow waist, she told him without words that she was close…that she needed him to take his pleasure. To take her, bring her along to the culmination of all her childish hopes and dreams.
Dreams that weren’t dead after all.
Harder. Faster. The slapping sounds of flesh to flesh, body to body and soul to soul drove her higher. Her pussy clenched around his hot, driving shaft. Her orgasm started there, set off a chain reaction that had her whimpering and moaning and clinging to him while he buried his cock deep and let out a primal scream.
A scream she’d have heard even over the roar of the storm that had brought them home.
About the Author
Ann Jacobs is a sucker for lusty Alpha heroes and happy endings, which makes Ellora’s Cave an ideal publisher for her work. Romantica®, to her, is the perfect combination of sex, sensuality, deep emotional involvement and lifelong commitment—the elusive fantasy women often dream about but seldom achieve.
First published in 1996, Jacobs has sold over forty books and novellas, some of which have earned awards including the Passionate Plume (best novella, 2006), the Desert Rose (best hot and spicy romance, 2004) and More Than Magic (best erotic romance, 2004). She has been a double finalist in separate categories of the EPPIES and From the Heart RWA Chapter’s contest. Three of her books have been translated and sold in several European countries.
A CPA and former hospital financial manager, Jacobs now writes full time with the help of Mr. Blue, the family cat, who sometimes likes to perch on the back of her desk chair and lend his sage advice. He sometimes even contributes a few random letters when he decides he wants to try out the keyboard. She loves to hear from readers, and to put faces with names at signings and conventions.
Ann welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and e-mail address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Ann Jacobs
A Gift of Gold
A Mutual Favor
Another Love
Awakenings
Black Gold: Dallas Heat
Black Gold: Entrapped
Black Gold: Firestorm
Black Gold: Forever Enslaved
Black Gold: Love Slave
Club Rio Brava 1: Loving Control
Club Rio Brava 2: Switching Control
Club Rio Brava 3: Unexpected Control
Club Rio Brava 4: Learning Control
Colors of Love
Colors of Magic
D’Argent Honor 1: Vampire Justice
D’Argent Honor 2: Eternally His
D’Argent Honor 3: Eternal Surrender
D’Argent Honor 4: Eternal Victory
Dark Side of the Moon
Enchained anthology
Gates of Hell
Haunted
He Calls Her Jasmine
Heart of the West: Hitched
Heart of the West: Lassoed
Heart of the West: Roped
Lawyers in Love: Bittersweet Homecoming
Lawyers in Love: Gettin’ It On
Lawyers in Love: In His Own Defense
Love Magic
Mystic Visions anthology
Out of Bounds
Tip of the Iceberg
Topaz Dream
Wrong
Place, Wrong Time?
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
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