Naked Love

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “You’ll like my sister.”

  “Does she work at the ranch?” I ask.

  “No. She’s an interior designer, but she only lives an hour from the ranch. She’ll show up if I show up.”

  It’s our turn at the register, and it’s not long until we have our coffee and we’re finishing the short walk to the courthouse. I stop him a block away. “You don’t need to walk in with me, Reese. Mr. Hotness gossip isn’t what you need right now.”

  “Cat—”

  I push to my toes, lean into him, and kiss him. “Please. Go on without me. And go Team Summer. Kick ass.”

  “Are you Team Summer, Cat?”

  “You had me the minute you cut in line and earned your temporary Mr. Arrogant Asshole title.”

  He laughs and kisses me again. “I’ll see you for lunch unless some hell breaks loose.”

  “See you at lunch.”

  “Call your agent,” he says, and starts walking.

  “Ex-agent!” I call after him, but he’s right. I need to call Liz.

  I glance at my watch, and it’s actually early. I have time to call her. I walk onward to the courthouse, and since the picketers have already started, I round the corner and sit on a bench. I punch the autodial for Liz and the moment is rather anticlimactic, since I get her voice mail. I text her: I’m headed into court. I’ll try and call you at lunch. I disconnect, place my phone on vibrate, and head inside. A few minutes later, I’ve claimed my spot in the courtroom and pull out my notebook, not sure if I did the right or wrong thing when I wrote that closing statement and read it to him.

  It’s a half-hour later when Reese walks into the courtroom, and he’s relaxed, confident, charismatic. The room expands with his energy. If he’s rattled, it doesn’t show. It’s not long before the trial is underway, and Reese sticks to his plan. He calls the investigator. A man named Kevin Smith who is in his mid-forties, an air of confidence about him, with gray streaks at his temple and speckled through his dark hair. He’s good looking. If he’s articulate and smart, he’s dangerous.

  “Detective Smith,” Reese says. “I have here,” he holds up a document, “your written statement. Please read the last paragraph to the court.”

  Detective Smith shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable. Reese walks to him and hands him the document. The detective picks it up and reads from the paper. “In closing, Nelson Ward knew the victim. He had frequent communication with her, but there is no physical evidence to point to him as the person responsible for the murder of Jennifer Wright and her unborn child.” The detective sets down the notepad.

  “There was no evidence to point to him as the person responsible for the murder,” Reese repeats. “And yet my client is on trial today. Did you have new evidence presented after you wrote that statement?”

  “None that I’m aware of,” Smith says.

  “I’m finished with the witness,” Reese says, walking back to his table and sitting down.

  Dan stands up but stays behind his desk. “How many hours of behavioral studies, psychology classes, and special training have you had, detective?”

  “Hundreds.”

  “In your expert opinion, based on your interviews—”

  “Objection,” Reese says without even standing, and smartly before Dan is able to connect his client with the word “murder” in that question. “The word ‘opinion,’” Reese continues, “calls for conclusions not based on evidence.”

  “Sustained,” the judge says, eyeing Dan. “Move on, counselor.”

  “I’m done with the witness,” Dan states, sitting back down, which is a huge win for Reese. If there is a surprise coming, it’s not here.

  Reese stands up, clearly not done yet. “Redirect, your honor?” After the judge’s nod, Reese continues, “Detective, how many times in your career have you thought someone was guilty and discovered they were not?”

  “A number of times.”

  Dan stands up. “Objection. Irrelevant and immaterial.”

  I smirk. He should have said that before the detective answered the question.

  “Sustained,” the judge says.

  “Understood,” Reese says. “I won’t ask the detective how many times he was wrong.”

  “Counselor,” the judge chides.

  “My apologies, judge. I’ll move on.” He eyes the detective. “Did you have enough evidence to convict my client?”

  “As I stated—”

  “Yes or no,” Reese presses.

  “No.”

  “In other words, your opinion, no matter what it might be, was not enough to convict my client.”

  “No. It was not.”

  “And right now, all you have to offer myself and this jury as evidence is your opinion.”

  The detective’s face tightens. “Correct.”

  Reese sits down. “No further questions.”

  Reese calls a second detective next, and the morning is his. He owns it. Come lunchtime, I head out of the courthouse, eager to meet up with Reese and talk about the morning. The sun is high, warming the day, and with my boots, turtleneck and jacket, it’s perfect, like Reese’s performance this morning. I’m just walking down the steps when my phone buzzes. I pull out my phone and find three missed calls, all from my publisher. This can’t be good. I dial them back as I walk, assuming it’s my editor trying to reach me, since I didn’t actually listen to the messages like I should have.

  “Melanie,” I say when she answers. “You called? I’ve been in court.”

  “Yes. I called. Liz says that you two parted ways.”

  “Yes. We did. It happened yesterday. I was going to let you know, but the courtroom has to be my focus this morning.”

  “I understand, but that’s why I called you directly. A representative for Reese Summer called our office this morning.”

  I stop walking, an instant knot in my belly. “What? Why?”

  “Reese Summer says that he will not write a book, but he won’t talk to anyone else who might, except you.”

  My God. What has he done?

  “Are you there, Cat?”

  “Yes. I’m here.”

  “We’re prepared to make you a five-hundred-thousand-dollar offer.”

  My jaw drops to the ground. “Can you repeat that?”

  “Five hundred thousand dollars.”

  I don’t let myself react. “Liz is still the agent on record for my option. I’ll need to talk with her, coordinate my new representation, and get back with you.”

  “When?”

  “By Monday.”

  “It’s already Monday. Wednesday.”

  “I’ll try. I make no promises. If you want to pay me that kind of money to write about this trial, I can’t miss it.”

  “Fine. Monday.”

  We disconnect and I start walking, trying to calm down. It’s a huge offer, but it’s not an offer for me. It’s for Reese. I can’t accept it. He’s effectively made my career about him. It’s not even my money. I remind myself that he was trying to protect me. I know he was, but it’s a big red flag. Every man in my life has tried to protect me by taking control. And you don’t just take control of my career. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m grateful. How do I feel all of those things at one time?

  He’s taking over my life. I’m losing my independence. And part of me doesn’t care with this man. What is wrong with me?

  I arrive at the food trucks and pass them right by, walking to the benches I normally sit on with Reese. “Cat.”

  I rotate to find him walking toward me, all loose-legged swagger and confidence that I can’t dare rattle right now, right before he returns to court. I don’t know what I’m going to say or do.

  24

  Cat

  Reese stops in front of me, and when he reaches for me, I step back. “No. I think I’m angry with you.”

  His brow furrows. “You think?”

  “Yes. I might be. I need to think. I’m confused right now, and when I’m angry, I prefer to have that ang
er fully vetted. And I know I can’t have an angry conversation with you right now, anyway. Not before you go back to trial. So I’m going to leave now, you can have your lucky hotdog, and I will see you after court adjourns.”

  “Why are you angry?”

  “I said I think I’m angry. I need some time to think about what I feel right now. I mean, why would you— No.” I hold up my hands. “No. No. This is not the time. Eat and go back to court and win your case.” I try to walk around him.

  He catches my arms and pulls me around to face him, and apparently my body is not one bit angry with this man, considering I’m warm where he touches, and pretty much everywhere I want him to touch. Bottom line, I’m warm. All over. “Talk to me, Cat,” he orders softly, stepping into me.

  Now, I’m really warm. “Not now,” I say, wishing he didn’t smell so good and feel so good.

  “Now,” he says. “I want to know now.”

  “You know what you did.”

  He narrows his eyes on me. “Sweetheart, I’m getting to know you, but I’m not used to you walking around things.”

  “You have court.”

  “Cat,” he bites out.

  “Why would you call my publisher?”

  “Well, that was fast. I thought I’d have tonight to talk to you about this.”

  “This involved me. You talk to me first, not after you do something, so yeah. I’ve clarified how I feel. I’m angry.”

  “I wasn’t going to let Dan fuck with your career.”

  “So you made my career about you?”

  “Of course not. It’s about you. And if you think it’s about me, then that’s you being insecure and letting your past settle between us again.”

  “The offer is because you’re involved.”

  “They wanted you for Dan, Cat. You were already offered this deal. Only, Dan would have taken your money.”

  He’s sort of right. “It’s feels different.”

  “Because you’re making it different. It’s not.”

  “You should have talked to me.”

  “You’re right.”

  My brow furrows. “I’m right?”

  “Yes. You’re right. Come out of the walkway,” he says, lacing the fingers of one of his hands with mine, before leading me to the back side of the food truck and pulling me close again, hands on my waist. “I should have talked to you, but in my defense, and to be clear: You are my woman now, Cat. I will protect you and I won’t apologize for that, and I don’t know why you would want me to. But I’ll communicate better.”

  I’m his woman. I try to get my head around why those possessive words don’t stir a pushback from me. I close my hand around his tie. “No one takes care of me but me.”

  “Until you had me.”

  “This is still new, Reese. We’re new.”

  “And that means what? Because I can tell you, I know what is real. We are. And I know this because I haven’t wanted to take care of anyone but you. You’re different in every way, and I can’t not take care of you.”

  A million emotions pound at me, and I decide to just be honest and say what comes to me. “I don’t know how to reconcile how much I like what you just said to me and how much I need you to let me be my own woman.”

  “I love who you are, sweetheart, and I don’t want you to change, but you have to let your guard down. Let me in.”

  “I am. I have, but we really are new.”

  “You’re right. We are. I told you, though, when I want something, I know it, and I am in a one-hundred-percent charge forward.”

  “Charge with me, not at me, Reese.”

  “Point made. Point understood.” He strokes hair from my face. “Let’s sit down and talk.”

  “You need to eat and go back to court, which is why I didn’t want to do this now. We’ll talk tonight.”

  “I have time. We have a long break. Let’s grab some food together.”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  We grab our usual, my bag of nuts and his hotdog, and claim our regular bench. “You made your sister proud this morning,” I say. “You killed it in there.”

  He finishes off a bite of his hotdog. “My team had a good morning,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t that surprise you mentioned waiting on me.”

  “There has to be a surprise,” I say, facing him. “The prosecution can’t be this unprepared.”

  “It’s an election year,” Reese says. “A trial makes a big splash, and we both know the public is going to convict my client, and the jury if they acquit, no matter what the evidence says. That’s a win at the voting booths.” He takes a bite of his hotdog and I open his water for him. “Unless,” he says, accepting it, “we come up with that confession we need.” He guzzles his water.

  “Anything from the Walker crew?”

  He finishes off his hotdog and tosses the wrapper in a trashcan. “The secretary put them off.”

  “Interesting. She must know something and can’t decide what to say.”

  “Agreed. And I don’t know if I should be worried or impatient, or both.”

  “You need to stick with believing in your client,” I say. “If you falter, the jury will know.”

  He sets the water on the ground and changes the subject. “Take me out of the equation. If you didn’t know me, would you be excited about what your publisher had to say?”

  “Yes, but I can’t take you out of the equation. I don’t just know you, I’m sharing your bed, you gave me a key to your apartment, and I don’t know how to separate that.”

  “Take the deal or use it for leverage to move to a new publishing house and get the agent you want.”

  “They offered me five hundred thousand dollars. If I do this, I’m splitting the deal with you.”

  He inches back and arches a brow. “Half a million. Not bad.” His hand comes down on my leg and he pulls me to him, and I scoot closer. “I don’t want your money, Cat. I just want you.” He cups my face and his mouth slants over mine, his tongue stroking against mine in a slow, drugging kiss. “I can’t wait to get you home tonight.” He brushes his lips over mine. “I’ll see you soon.” He stands up and leaves me with so many thoughts that I have to weed through them. I focus on one word.

  Home.

  He called his apartment home, and, of course, it is. He just used it in a way that felt inclusive, like his place is my place.

  But it’s not.

  Could it be?

  Do I want it to be?

  Maybe.

  Which leads me to the only thought that matters right now. I’m not just falling harder and harder for this man. I’m falling in love. I’m vulnerable. I could get hurt in a way Mitch could never have hurt me. But I trust Reese. He did everything right today. Said everything right. And he meant it.

  He’s not going to hurt me.

  Not on purpose.

  I stand up and stuff my water and nuts into my briefcase before heading back to the courthouse. Rounding the corner to the front of the food trucks, I stop dead in my tracks, to find Reese in a confrontation with Kelli Ward, the wife of his client, and, of course, a possible killer. “How do we know what we say to you won’t end up in one of her columns?” Kelli demands, that question clearly about me. “How?” she demands. And without giving him a chance to reply, adds, “This is malpractice.” She turns and walks away.

  It’s not malpractice, I think, that’s just silly, but I don’t want to cause Reese trouble.

  He turns toward me and motions me forward, away from the people in line at the truck who had to have heard Kelli’s outburst. “That wasn’t good,” he says.

  “She’s afraid of you. Which tells me she’s afraid of a whole lot more.”

  “Is this going to be a problem for you?”

  “I told Nelson about us this morning. I wasn’t giving Dan a chance to shake my team up with some sort of bomb that isn’t even a bomb.”

  “And he said what?”

  “It was a non-issue. But do me a favor, sweethe
art. Call the Walker team. Tell them Kelli is rattled. She’s set up for a misstep and I want her to go down, even if that means I have to take a few risks in the courtroom and draw this trial out.”

  “I’ll call now.”

  He kisses me. “A longer trial means we’re going to need to pick up more of your things and bring them to my place.” And with that, he leaves again, and I don’t let myself think about the fact that he’s pretty much moving me in with him. Right now, it’s about this trial. I retrieve my phone from my purse and check the time. I still have a full half-hour, and it’s a five-minute walk back. Deciding this call is private, I round the food trucks again and sit down on the bench. I don’t actually have Royce’s number, so I call Lauren.

  “Hi, Cat. Wow. What a morning Reese had. He destroyed the prosecution.”

  “Yes. He did. Kelli Ward confronted him about me and said it was malpractice.”

  She laughs. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It is,” I say. “But Reese wanted to let Royce know that she is acting erratic, scared even. She might do something rash.”

  “I’ll tell Royce right now.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call you later.”

  “Cat,” she says when I would hang up.

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful. If she is as crazy as she seems, I don’t want you becoming a target.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I say. “Thanks, Lauren.”

  The call ends with another one beeping. I glance at the screen to find Liz calling. Wanting this over with, I take the call. “I’m the agent on record for this deal,” she says.

  “Yes. I know. I wouldn’t cheat you out of the money. I’m just not sure I want to stay with a publisher that pushed me into a deal with Dan. And frankly, I’d like an agent who is invested in me long term to co-agent and shop this project. You can split the deal.”

  “I don’t want to split. I want to represent you.”

  Of course she does. Now I’m worth money to her. “You told me I was dead in the water, Liz, because I was dating Reese.”

  “Dan has a relative at your publishing house,” she says. “I didn’t want to tell you that because I didn’t want to tarnish your relationship with your editorial team. I went off on them, though. I told them they were playing games with my author over a personal connection.”