by Moriah Jovan
Eric looked at the floor, shaking his head, thoroughly exasperated with me. “You know, I don’t know what it is about you that you have to do everything so fucking stupidly, but did it ever occur to you to just ask her out like, you know, a normal guy? Or do you not have enough drama in your life that you had to add a little more?”
“Oh, shut the fuck up. Where do you get off?”
“Uh, let’s see. Stable situation. Stable girlfriend. No drama. That’s where I get off.”
“And that explains Simone and LaVon Whittaker and Junior how?”
“Not my doing, that’s how. And notice, I don’t deal with them for the most part. Repeat: No drama.” He took two long steps toward my desk, snatched my gun out of my hand, stuffed it in the back of his waistband. “You’re not getting it back.”
“Fuck you. I’m your boss, remember?”
“Theoretically. So since she’s gone, you can take over her case load.”
“I think not. Figure out something else.”
“Go to the Ozarks.”
No, not that, either. Vanessa would want to know why and I sure as hell didn’t want to explain—
—not when I had hoped that the next time I went, I’d be bringing my new wife, showing her off, making love with her in a bedroom that didn’t look like I’d furnished it out of the Salvation Army mark-down section.
Ah, hell, I was used to celibacy and I wouldn’t live long enough for it to make a difference anyway.
I sighed and glanced out the window again, across the street to the dojo that was now brightly lit. “Aren’t you late for class?”
“Dirk’s night to teach. I’m not going anywhere.”
Shit.
He slapped his files on my desk and picked up my phone. Called his girlfriend, told her he was on suicide watch, and bring food and entertainment.
“You’re a ballsy little bastard,” I grumbled. “Remind me why I hired you?”
“’Cause I’m a ballsy little bastard,” he shot back and dropped onto the leather sofa, stretched out like he hadn’t a care in the world.
Annie walked in not an hour later with Chinese, chopsticks, books, and magazines.
“There’s a procedure for people like you, Knox,” she said as she dumped the bags of food on my desk. I tried to stare her down, but she dealt with what she called M.Deities all day long and she’d told me more than once a lowly prosecutor didn’t faze her. “It’s called a frontal lobotomy.”
Eric laughed, drug a chair over to my desk.
The three of us settled in to eat.
“By the way,” Annie said, “my mother’s still available.”
I snarled at her. “I am not going to be your mother’s boy toy and I’ve been telling you that for ten years. At least.”
“What? You don’t want to be my stepfather?”
“You need to get rid of that bitch,” I muttered, hoping to shut her up, but she continued to prod and poke me about that hag she couldn’t or wouldn’t shake.
“It’s not as easy for a daughter to divorce her mother as it is for a son,” she informed me sagely as she dug her chopsticks into her noodles. “Oh, and look, if you do marry her, I promise I won’t try to glom onto your exactly four dollars and fifty-two cents, which is about what OKH will be worth when King Midas gets through with it.”
Annie annoyed me to no end sometimes. Her pragmatic wit and savvy business sense was occasionally the bane of my existence. Eric’s inability to stop laughing didn’t help.
“That’d be a funny joke on my mom, though.”
“I’m already married,” I snapped before I thought.
Annie looked at me sharply, surprised, but not enough to delay that quick mind or tongue. “Then why are we here with you instead of in bed?”
I waved a hand toward the door. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. And give me my gun back.”
“Nope,” Eric said around a mouthful of food.
“And why aren’t you in bed with Mrs. OKH trying for Baby OKH?”
I said nothing, unwilling to account for myself to a girl who made her living flashing her legs and tits at doctors. Gorgeous rodeo blonde with something approaching Sebastian’s brain. What was it with all the beautiful young women around me? Vanessa, Annie, half a dozen defense attorneys I had to work to beat anymore. Youth, beauty, brilliance, and nothing short of a maniacal drive to succeed, every last one.
And Iustitia, young, beautiful, brilliant, with a maniacal drive to succeed—but who hadn’t cut through enough of her naïveté to see through my bluster.
All these years teaching brand new law students. Had I simply missed how attractively energetic young women were? Or was I just hitting the first stages of a mid-life crisis and had cornered one to give me my own youth back?
She looked at Eric who pursed his lips and bent back to his food.
“Oh, I see,” she drawled, then glanced back at me, sighed, did the worst thing she could’ve possibly done.
She patted my hand. What the fuck?!
“Go home.”
“Nothin’ doin’, sport.”
Dawn came with me working, Eric asleep on the couch, Annie curled up with him, but dozing.
Keeping me alive.
If it weren’t for all the women in my life looking out for me, save my mother, I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I had.
“You gonna be okay?” she asked softly, glancing out the window at the lightening sky. Eric awoke with a start, looked at Annie, then looked at me.
“I think so.” I paused. “Thank you.”
She smiled and arose, then pulled Eric to his feet. I sighed when they left and figured I could expect them back tonight, still on suicide watch.
I wasn’t fine. I knew I couldn’t bear to look at Iustitia’s desk without breaking, but I had a job to do and I was only too glad to have court.
Went home.
Took a shower.
Came back.
Charmed a jury.
Yelled at my staff.
More than usual.
Worked all night, Eric and Annie sitting guard.
Repeat the day after that.
Except after lunch . . .
You know, I didn’t care if the kid had stayed with me two nights in a row to make sure I didn’t blow a hole in my head. He needed to show some respect.
“Cipriani! Pay attention! What the fuck is your problem?”
He looked up at me, then at her desk and jerked his head. “Look.”
I looked over my shoulder. What the—?
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
That perfectly carved haughty Faery Queen face dotted with that mass of freckles, the tousled red curls that looked like I’d just run my fingers through them, that gorgeous body all wrapped up in designer clothes I wanted to tear off of her—
—feel her naked against me again, be inside her, make her come instead of cry.
Make love to me, Knox.
Had she really said that or had I imagined it?
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said and went through her file-stacking routine like it was any other day of the week. “It won’t happen again.”
I turned, still not able to credit that perhaps, just perhaps, another woman had come back to me and—worse!—one I’d mistreated more than Leah. I was never going to get over that guilt. But I stared at her, not knowing whether to laugh and kiss her, or crawl in a hole and die of shame.
“That’s what you say every time you’re late, McKinley.” Oh, shit, if Fen found out . . . “I oughtta fire your ass.”
She glanced up at me with those languid golden cat eyes that made me think she could read my mind and further, see all the way down into the darkest corners of my soul, knowing exactly who I was. “You can’t. You haven’t laid any paper on me and I’ll sue you for wrongful termination.”
No, it couldn’t be. She was back and she’d finally grown a spine. I hadn’t been wrong about that after all.
Or was she jus
t suffering from Stockholm Syndrome?
I had to get away from her to figure this out.
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll remember that.”
I slammed the door behind me and fell back against it, bent over, nauseated at the implications of her being here. Would she stay with me as my AP and my wife, as just my AP, or was she taunting me?
It took some effort to breathe and my heart pounded in my chest like I was having a heart attack.
At thirty-eight.
Then I felt a strange calm go through my body.
Warmth.
Comfort.
I knew what that was even though I hadn’t felt it in years—and missed it. I fell to my knees, thunked my forehead on the floor, braced my body on my elbows and clenched my hands behind my head.
“Thank you,” I whispered over and over again, desperate and choking on my own spit. “Thank you so much.”
* * * * *
My wife.
All I wanted to do was wrap myself around her and hold her close, smell her.
Make love to her.
The way she deserved.
I couldn’t imagine why she’d come back to me after the night I’d raped her. I didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve her.
But there she was, getting out of her car in front of my house and preparing to unload her stuff.
I walked out to her and did exactly what I wanted—
—wrapped myself around her.
Held her close.
Kissed her.
Smelled her.
She kissed me back, wrapped her arm around me and pulled me tight to her. Did that mean—?
I needed her to know, to understand what her being with me would mean because obviously she didn’t get it.
Well . . . maybe she did. At least, she said she did.
Then, why—?
I didn’t buy her first bullshit excuse. Want to be like Giselle, my ass. I didn’t marry Giselle for a reason.
Or six.
It took a while, but we finally got to the heart of it.
“I’m upset you bought me, but I’m grateful, too.”
I thought I’d puke. Gratitude? Gratitude?!
I don’t think I’d ever been so mad at her as I was right then. What was I supposed to say to that? You’re welcome, could you sleep with me now?
“There’s, um— There’s a petition in the little safe that I don’t know what to do with. Could you— Um, could you shred it for me, please?”
Fuck.
I gathered my wits enough to say, “I don’t want you here if you’re just grateful, Iustitia.”
“Give me a little bit more credit than that,” she snapped, and I knew then she’d thought it through, though I still didn’t understand her motivation.
“Okay. Then why are you here? The real reason?”
She wouldn’t look at me, but her words took my breath away. “I— I want to see where this, with you and me, together— Uh, out in the grass, before— I mean, um, I want to know . . . If we— If you and I can—”
She stopped.
Gulped.
“I want to try,” she whispered.
She wanted me. She wanted us.
In spite of what I’d done to her.
I couldn’t begin to make that up to her, but she was here, wanting to start over.
With me.
A relationship.
A marriage.
I said the only thing I could think of. “I’m sorry I hurt you out in the grass, Iustitia.”
What a fucking stupid thing to say.
She seemed to find that amusing. “So you said about a gazillion times.”
No, what I mean is, I’m sorry I raped you.
I wanted her so badly I hurt, with an intensity and desperation I’d never felt in my life. There she was. Right next to my—our—bed.
My wife. Wanted me, wanted us.
I had to get out of there before I fucked it all up and made her leave again. I knew I would eventually anyway, because I always did.
“I won’t pressure you. You come to me when you’re ready.”
And if I didn’t fuck it up before I had to tell her about the man I’d murdered, that would certainly send her away for good.
I really would eat my gun if she left again because after that heartfelt little speech, I knew I would never be able to live without her.
SEXUAL HARASSMENT
Justice was still steaming from her and Knox’s shouting match this morning over . . . nothing, really. At least, not about her tardiness.
Iustitia, if you want to wear my clothes, buy me some more. I don’t have any white shirts this morning and I have court.
So wear a blue one.
I don’t like blue ones and I have court and juries don’t like me in dark colors and I’m not going to wear a blue shirt under a gray suit and my gray shirts don’t match my suits right.
Wear your pink one then.
I would if you hadn’t fucking worn it!
Does it make any difference at all that I like you in black?
Only after five o’clock. Iustitia, are you listening to me?
I can’t help but listen to you. The whole neighborhood can hear you.
I’m yelling because I don’t want to lose my fucking trial, which I frequently did when I wore dark suits. Shit, Iustitia, that’s why I hire fucking jury consultants. Quit taking clothes from my fucking trial closet.
Well, okay. It was her fault. She had run him out of white shirts—and his sole pink one—over the weekend and yes, she did know that juries didn’t like him in black. He tended to roar in court and when he wore black, he came off as three-quarters deranged.
Which was the way she liked him best.
She just hadn’t . . . thought about it. Didn’t she get brownie points for wanting to wear his clothes?
Right about the time she got to work and decided to apologize to him, she walked into the courthouse and noticed the kinds of stares she hadn’t garnered since she first began working in Chouteau County. Then she heard a random snicker here and there.
She stopped cold. Her nostrils flared and she looked around, her eyes narrowed, at the various county employees, who couldn’t keep their amusement to themselves.
Crap.
She saw the trooper responsible for all of this out of the corner of her eye. He smirked at her, not apologetic in the least bit. She curled her lip at him and he burst out laughing.
“Oh, I see. They got your memo, but not mine.”
“Can’t help that, Justice. News doesn’t travel that fast. You should be thanking me because look what you got out of it.”
She flipped him off, making sure he could see her wedding ring—what she’d gotten out of his gossiping. He howled again, but turned away when the radio on his shoulder blipped his name.
Yet . . . a wedding ring, a showdown with Fen, a night spent snuggling and kissing apparently didn’t count when it came to Knox’s trial closet.
“Harrumph.”
“You’re late,” Knox snapped when she walked into the office.
“Am not,” she snapped back. “I’m exactly on time.”
“I want you in my office in five minutes.”
Justice rolled her eyes when his office door slammed behind him. Everyone in the office was busy, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t spare a second to chuckle, especially now that the secret was out.
At least amongst the attorneys in the office. Everybody else must still think Knox and Justice were having an affair.
She dumped her things and went to Knox’s office, opened the door, saw him standing behind his desk, looking down, sorting through papers.
In a black suit. Gray shirt. Ice blue tie that matched his eyes, which she’d found and bought for him.
His hair looked more pale against the black, a light gold.
God, he was hot.
She closed the door.
“What.”
He looked up at her, a menacing scowl on his fac
e. That wasn’t new.
He approached her like a lion, golden, predatory, hungry. That wasn’t new.
He stopped inches away from her and wrapped his hands around her hips, gathering the fabric up as he slid his hands up and over them to her waist. That wasn’t exactly new, but her breath caught.
“Are you going to stop wearing my clothes or buy me new ones?” he growled as the hem of her dress collected at her waist, over his wrists.
“Neither. Not if you’re forced to dress like that everyday,” she returned, her chin rising. “I like it. If you want to dress in gray, buy your own surplus.”
“Fine,” he snarled. “Now that we’ve got that cleared up, I’m going to put you up against that wall behind us and fuck you.”
That was new.
“You never fuck.”
“I do today,” he growled.
“Fine,” she snapped, thoroughly, unexpectedly aroused and so glad that she’d chosen to wear stockings instead of pantyhose.
Knox grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard, angrily. She returned it with the fire that had been burning in her all morning. He turned them around and backed her up against the wall. Lifting her, he wrapped her legs loosely around his waist and leaned her back against the wall. He undid his trousers, and she pushed her panties aside.
As an afterthought, she dipped two fingers inside herself, gathering her juices and offered them to Knox, watching him as he stared right back at her, licking her fingers slowly, savoring each drop. Then she was slammed flat against the wall as he drove inside her.
Justice moaned, her eyes closing, her head tilting back against the wall to enjoy the ride. She smiled. Knox’s left hand was braced against the wall and his right hand cupped her ass as he thrust fast and hard; her fingers raked through his hair to hold him tight to her skin. He feasted on her collarbone, her throat, her neck, her—
“Knox— Oh, shit.”
Justice’s head snapped up and her eyes popped open. Knox’s head whipped around.
Eric, his hand on the doorknob and his jaw on the floor, was being rapidly flanked by Richard, Patrick, Dirk, and a cadre of officers and attorneys, staring at them with varying degrees of shocked glee.
“WELL, GET OUT!” Knox finally bellowed when no one seemed inclined to budge.
