by Celia Aaron
“Case law.” I shake my head. “That’s great and all, but I have something better.”
“Like what?” She crosses her arms, but instead of looking tough, it just makes her look extra kissable. As if she’s daring me to come for her. And fuck if I don’t want to.
“I have facts that you don’t have.”
Her eyes narrow. “You were supposed to turn over everything in discovery. You told the court that you had, but now you’re saying you’ve held back and there’s more evidence? That is unaccep—”
“Judge Houston used to visit the diner every Wednesday for lunch.”
“What?” The way her eyebrows rise, she can’t have seen that coming. “So?”
“So, Wednesday is fried catfish day. He hasn’t been able to visit for the past few months because of the conflict of interest. Do you have any idea how delicious catfish day is?” I almost groan at the thought of it. “It’s like if the Almighty himself breaded and fried the fish, okay? Perfectly seasoned, crispy, utterly delicious. And they serve it with a side of mac and cheese and some spicy collards. It is, in a word, heaven. And Judge Houston has been missing it for months because of Rayford.”
Her stomach grumbles.
“Exactly.” I throw my hands up. “I rest my case.”
“Those are the all-important ‘facts’?” She relaxes a hair. “Catfish has nothing to do with this.”
“This is a small town, Ms. King. You come from a small town. You should know that everything has to do with everything here. We’re all connected. So, yes, the catfish does have plenty to do with this.”
“I don’t—”
Something thumps upstairs, and I can’t mistake Elise’s squeal of pleasure, or possibly pain.
“What was that?” Ella’s eyes are wide.
“My brother and his wife. They’re, ah, they’re really into—” Another thump and a low groan make it through the timbers. “—kickboxing.”
“Okay?” She looks up, and then her stomach grumbles again.
I pause before finishing off my beer. “Did you skip lunch?”
She shrugs and pulls her legal pad back into her lap. “We should get back to work, catfish notwithstanding.”
“You skipped lunch.” I stand. “And it’s damn near suppertime. Come on. I can whip you up something nice.” And I can get you away from my brother’s kink.
“No, I’m fine. We should just get this conference over with, then I can grab something on the way back to town.”
“Come on.” I hold my hand out to her.
She eyes it like it might bite her.
“Please?”
With an aggrieved sigh, she sets her pad down and takes my hand.
God, I love the feel of her skin. Something so simple. How many hands do I shake a day? Plenty. But hers is something magical. Mainly because of who it’s attached to.
I let her go, though I don’t want to, and lead her to the kitchen. “What are you into, Ms. King. I can make—”
She peers at the piled wood in the back hall. “Please, call me Ella.”
Sweet, sweet victory. “All right, Ella.” I smile. “Don’t mind the construction stuff. Elise is in the middle of redoing the two bedrooms on this floor. And, by the way, I think I said you could call me Hart when we first got onto this case together, but you wouldn’t.”
“I like the formality. Makes everything seem more official in court and in front of clients. But we’re here now.” She looks around the remodeled kitchen. “In this gorgeous place. My goodness. This marble is so nice.” She runs her hand down the island.
“It’s Alabama white. There’s a quarry south of Birmingham. Can you imagine that? It’s like Italian marble but dug up by Bubba instead of Benizio.” I point to one of the island seats. “Get comfortable. I’m ready to work for you.”
“Are you sure? I could just snack on whatever’s handy or—”
“Sit.” I point.
She does. It thrills me when she complies, maybe a little too much. I add a “please” too late, but she seems not to mind.
“Okay.” I walk into the pantry. “I can make spaghetti, chicken salad sandwiches, some sort of egg salad if you’re freaky.” I head to the fridge and see what’s on hand. “There’s a Christmas turkey in here. Okay, so not that. Or I can do a shrimp linguine with a hint of citrus.”
“Ooh.”
“Yeah?” I turn and look at her.
She nods. “That sounds amazing, but I don’t want to put you out.”
“Not at all. This is all part of my winning strategy.” I pull out the Gulf shrimp and some cream and set them on my side of the island. “Gonna feed you into submission.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She’s smiling.
I want to see that smile so much more. “Thank you.” I melt some butter in a pan and put some salted water on to boil. Her eyes are on me the whole time, and I like the feeling. It’s comfortable with her somehow.
When I turn around and catch her staring, she clears her throat. “I, um, don’t see why we can’t work while you cook.”
“Sure.” Work is the last thing I want to do, but I’ll humor her. “How do you suggest we resolve this matter?”
“A full split of—”
“Realistically, Ella.” I peel and devein the shrimp. “Sure, Rayford wants the pie in the sky, but he doesn’t deserve it, and Judge Houston won’t give it to him.”
“He deserves to be compensated.”
“For what? He hasn’t done a lick of work to create this eggnog side business. Ty and Bonnie invested their savings to get it started, and it’s frankly a miracle that it’s turning a profit at all.” I toss the shrimp into the pan. The sizzle tells me I timed it right, so I add the garlic and a few splashes of lemon juice.
“That smells amazing.” She stands and walks around the island to peer into the pan. “What did you put in there?”
She’s at my elbow, her warmth lighting up my side. I toss the linguine into the boiling water. “Your staples are present—salt, pepper, onion, and garlic—I call those the Royal Quartet. And then I’ve added the lemon juice. I’ll put the zest in once I’ve added the cream for the sauce. If you add it too early, it’s liable to burn.”
“I can cook a few things, but nothing like this.”
“If you can read, you can cook.” I point to a shelf next to the pantry full of cookbooks, most of them old. “And the Internet has some recipes so good that they’ll definitely make you want to slap your mama.”
She gives me a wry smile. “I bet you could charm a Yankee with that kind of talk.”
“I’m not charming you?” I stir the shrimp. “I did once.” I hold my breath. Does she remember?
She groans and retreats back to her seat.
Damnit.
“I was sort of hoping you didn’t remember that night. You hadn’t mentioned it this whole time, so I thought I was safe.”
“Safe?” With me? Not a chance.
She taps her glass, her cheeks getting those pink blooms in them. “I think I’ll have some wine after all.”
“Was it that bad?” I pour her a white and grab myself another beer.
“Thanks.” She takes a small gulp. “Not bad. It’s just, I want you to know I’m not the sort that goes out partying with law school grads and tries to pick up one of them, okay?” She continues, her words coming so fast they’re almost stuck together. “That night I was celebrating with one of my friends who’d passed the bar with you, and I was just intending to get a drink with her and then get home. I didn’t realize half the law school would be at that bar to party. And then I let Orchid give me way too much to drink. I mean, it wasn’t a lot for a social drinker, but back then I was a total lightweight, so it all went to my head, and then I saw you, and you were so handsome and smelled so good—” She takes a bigger gulp.
At this point, I’ve turned off the stove and given her my full attention, which somehow makes her talk even faster in an utterly adorable way.
�
�And so then I was buzzed and you were there and I got a little out of hand.”
“You crawled into my lap and kissed me in front of the entire bar.”
She clenches her eyes shut. “I know.”
“And asked me to take you home.” I plate her food.
“Oh, God.” She hangs her head.
“But I didn’t because you were so trashed.”
“Thank you.” Her hair drapes in a curtain in front of her face. “I really thought you’d forgotten.”
“Forget you?” I serve up her food. “Not possible.”
She lifts her head. “I was that embarrassing?”
“You were that memorable.” I take the seat next to her. “The next day, I managed to track you down through Orchid, but she told me you were mortified, hungover, and had zero interest in a newly-minted lawyer with no job prospects and the Blackwood name.”
“She said that?” She picks up her fork.
“Yeah. I couldn’t blame her.” I shrug and watch as she takes her first bite. “That was after the whole Blackwood thing blew up. The papers didn’t exactly paint us in a positive light, and you saw what it was like out here. Not good.”
She makes an ‘mmm’ noise. “This is so good, Hart.”
“Thanks.” I clink my beer with her wine glass. “And please don’t be embarrassed.”
“I can’t help it. It was so out-of-character for me to act that way. I mean, I pretty much pawed at you in public.”
To be accurate, she dry-humped me in public, but there’s no need to put so fine a point on it at the moment. “Maybe you didn’t notice I was more than happy to have you on top of me?”
She takes a big bite and chews, using the food as a shield.
“Seriously. Why do you think I tried to find you the next day? I wanted to get to know you. But, like I said, Orchid made it clear I wasn’t the guy for you.”
“Sorry about that.” She turns toward me, finally. “Orchid can be pushy. But, I mean, she was right. I was busy with my career. You were just starting out.” She shrugs.
“And my name?”
“I didn’t care about your name. I learned a long time ago that what people say about you and the truth are two entirely separate concepts. The King name carries a lot of water in Azalea. Or, it used to. But then my father’s history came to light.” She spears the last shrimp. “So no, names don’t mean a thing.”
“Sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks.” She drops her chin a little. “I know he wasn’t a good man, but I still miss him.”
“I understand.” I take a swig of my beer.
She eats in silence for a moment.
I can’t let the mood stay heavy. Not when I finally have her feeling comfortable around me. “So, that night. You don’t remember dry-humping me?”
She stops mid-chew and gives me a sideways glance.
I laugh. “You do!”
Her laugh meets mine, and god, she’s absolutely beautiful when she smiles. I reach over and wipe a bit of sauce from the edge of her bottom lip, then lick my thumb. She follows the movement but quickly drops her eyes. Clearing her throat a little, she says, “This really is delicious.”
I lean closer. “So were you.”
She snorts. “Is this you making a pass at me?”
“You can’t tell?” I try not to grin, though I’m feeling particularly wolfish. She remembers. And not just vaguely. She knows every detail of our kiss that night, of straddling my lap, of how we instantly connected the moment we locked eyes across the bar.
“Nope.” She drinks more of her wine. “And it won’t work anyway. That night was a fluke. We’re opposing counsel. This—” She waves her fork between us. “Isn’t happening.”
“Why not?”
She puts her fork down. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m serious.” I pick it back up and hand it to her. “You missed a bite.”
She quirks her lips but takes the fork. “It doesn’t matter if you’re serious. We’re opposing counsel. You and I seeing each other?” She takes the last bite and washes it down with her wine. “That’s a state bar complaint waiting to happen.”
“Then we need to get this case settled.”
“Great.” She wipes her mouth. “I’m glad we agree. Your clients can pay Rayford the—”
I kiss her. It’s impulsive and rash. But I’ve never been known for having an even temperament. She freezes at first, and I think I’ve misjudged her. Then she lets out the softest sigh and melts into me. Her lips are so soft, even better than I remember. The kiss becomes more as I cup her cheek and angle her head.
Maybe I’m going too far, too fast for her, but I’ve been thinking about doing this very thing for years. So, I do it. And I don’t hold back. I swipe my tongue along the seam of her lips, and she opens. I take everything she offers with silent thanks. I can’t get enough. She turns more toward me and presses her palms to my chest. I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is beating. I want her to know what she does to me—what she’s been doing to me every single time I see her in that courtroom.
I put one hand at her lower back and pull her closer, my legs outside of hers as we continue kissing, the dance of our tongues sending pools of pleasure shooting through my veins. I want to lift her onto this counter, to feel the heat between her thighs as I kiss down her chest. Just the thought has me running my palm lower until I’m cupping her ass.
She makes a soft, feminine sound, then pulls back. I chase her and catch her mouth again, kissing her until we’re both breathless. When she pulls away again, I let her, though I want to drag her back into my arms.
“Hart, we shouldn’t.” She can’t hide the way her eyes are still on my lips. “We’re on the same case. The bar would—”
“Kissing isn’t an ethics violation.”
“It is when you’re opposing counsel.” She rises and steps back. “Is there a powder room I might use?”
“Sure, turn left, first door on your right.” I itch to follow her, to try to convince her that this is right, that we’ve been waltzing toward this moment ever since we first met. But I stay put as she walks into the hall.
She’s spooked. I need to give her space.
Just a little.
Just for now.
Chapter 6
Ella
I stare at the mirror with the gray frame and the hand-painted accents. Rain tinkles against the small window at my back. The sink basin is a raised glass bowl with river rocks around the drain. This house really is a showplace these days. Too bad my reflection is more of a mess than its surroundings. I shake my head at myself. Getting involved with opposing counsel isn’t something I can do.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I ignore the electric excitement rattling through my veins, the particular thrill of Hart’s mouth on mine, the way his hands felt in my hair, the way he lit up every pleasure receptor in my mind from nothing more than a kiss. If he can do that with his mouth, what would the rest of him—No. Not going there.
I stand up straight and give myself a stern look. Not happening. It can’t. Would I still be loyal to my client? Sure. But the state bar won’t see it that way. They’ll see me putting my interests ahead of my client’s. I can’t do that. So, it’s settled. “Right?” I ask my reflection.
The woman in the mirror doesn’t seem so sure. Damn.
Maybe I should leave. I mean, the conference is pretty much done, we aren’t going to come to an agreement today, and I can spend the rest of the evening writing up some more briefs in my motel room. This is a good plan, I tell myself.
I step into the hall and almost bump into a woman. “Oh.”
“Hi.” She turns, her hazel eyes widening. “Sorry, didn’t know you were in there. I’m Elise.”
I’d seen her from a distance when the entire Blackwood mess blew up, but up close I realize she’s got a warmth to her—the same warmth that’s in every decorative touch added to the house.
“I’m Ella.” I hold out
my hand.
She takes it and shakes, her grip strong. “Nice to meet you. Has Hart been treating you well? He can be a bit of a scamp.”
“He’s fine.” I shrug. “I mean, we are on opposite ends of a dispute, after all. I think that calls for some disagreement.”
“Sure.” She shrugs, her eyes lingering on the pink in my cheeks. “He can get heated.” A mischievous smile tickles at the corners of her mouth. “He’s more like his brother than he realizes.”
I don’t know much about the elder Blackwood, just rumors, really. But that’s enough. Then again, Elise seems perfectly kind and friendly, and she married him. Maybe the rumors are just that—rumors.
“Did he feed you?” She points toward the kitchen. “I was just going to find a snack. Need to refuel after—” She stops herself with a wave of her hand. “After, you know, working in the yard and such.”
“He fed me, yep.” She does look a bit flushed, I think. But something tells me it’s not from yard work.
“Great.” She walks past. “Well, I hope you all can come to an agreement. We love Bonnie and Ty, so I’m on their team, of course. But I’m sure they want what’s fair, just like you. It was great to meet you, and if you need anything, I’m always around.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” I’m already beginning to like her, the spunky little walk and the way she talks with me as if we’ve known each other for a while—it’s all so comfortable.
She gives me a wave. “Good luck with Hart. He’s back in the living room.”
“Thanks.” I turn and retrace my steps toward the front of the house.
“You okay?” Hart is flipping through a mottled legal pad on his lap.
“Yeah. I met Elise.”
“I thought I heard you two talking.” He leans back, his slow smile like sweet molasses. “She tell you how awesome I am?”
“Not quite.” I gather my legal pad.
“Hey.” He leans forward. “Are you leaving?”
“I probably should. We aren’t getting anywhere.” I mean, we were getting somewhere in the kitchen, but in the completely wrong direction.