In Your Corner

by Sarah Castille

  Someone turns up the music and the house vibrates to the nu metal version of “Ice, Ice, Baby” as we load up the cooler and spend a few minutes chatting about her upcoming holiday.

  Over the pounding bass of Disturbed, I hear the slam of the front door, greetings and cheers, and then Jake’s voice rises above the buzz of power tools. “Quitting time. Everyone out back for the barbecue.” Damn. He’s back from his supply run way too soon.

  The door bursts open and fighters stampede through the kitchen, pausing long enough to pick up the refilled cooler and empty the fridge of barbecue fixings.

  “You coming?” Makayla grabs a box of hamburger buns and heads for the door. “It’s supposed to be our bon voyage barbecue. I won’t be able to enjoy myself if I know you’re still working.”

  “I think I’ll just finish up here and then go home.”

  Her eyebrow lifts. “This is really about Jake, isn’t it? You’ve been avoiding him all day. Max said he hadn’t heard about a girlfriend, so why don’t you talk to him? Or are you planning to sabotage this relationship like you did last time, except you haven’t even given this one a chance?”

  Frowning, I grab a can of paint and a stir stick. “We don’t have a relationship, and I almost ruined whatever fledgling friendship we’d started to build by pushing too hard and forcing him to make it clear he’s not interested. And no wonder. I haven’t changed. I couldn’t give myself to him before, and I won’t be able to give myself now.”

  Makayla shakes her head and then pushes herself to her feet. “You’re dressed in torn sweats, covered in dirt, and painting cupboards in a dilapidated Victorian house that is soon to be your own law firm. We’ve been friends since kindergarten. I didn’t even know you owned sweats or would even contemplate working anywhere other than a big law firm. So don’t tell me you haven’t changed.”

  “He’s brushed me off. Twice.”

  “I know,” Makayla says softly. “But did it occur to you he might just want to be cautious? You can’t blame him for trying to protect himself. I can tell you from my experience with Max: he may be a tough fighter on the outside, but inside he’s just as vulnerable as we are.”

  She grabs the box and pushes open the door. The faint sound of someone yelling “Hey, Makayla, lemme grab your buns” is cut off by Max’s low growl, the thud of a fist hitting flesh, and Makayla’s high-pitched shriek telling Max that Homicide was just joking around.

  Fifteen minutes pass and then the door squeaks open.

  “Don’t move.”

  Totally immersed in painting the cupboard, I freeze mid–paint stroke as Jake’s deep voice rings out behind me.

  “What? Am I doing something wrong?”

  He closes the distance between us and runs his finger along the waistband of my gym pants, sending delicious tingles up my spine. Then he slides his hands around my waist, bared by the rise of my T-shirt as I stretch to reach the top of the cupboard with my paintbrush.

  “Yes. You look too damn sexy. Do you know what it does to a man when he catches a glimpse of something he isn’t meant to see?”

  “I hope it makes him tell the woman she can call off the panic attack and drop her arm.” I boldly do just that. “I also hope it makes him decide his hands might be of better use somewhere other than around her waist.”

  Jake slides his fingers over my hips, resting them just above my mound and his voice drops to a low growl. “I could make use of them here.”

  “So says the man who turned down a good offer just the other night at Redemption.” I remove his hands and turn to face him, putting on a brave face while inside I seethe. Who does he think he is coming on to me after brushing me off?

  “No games, Jake. You made your position clear. I got that. I’m not interested in being screwed around.”

  He presses his hands against the cupboards on either side of my head, caging me with his body. “What are you interested in?”

  “Moving on,” I say honestly.

  His pulse throbs in his neck and his eyes harden. “With whom?”

  “No one right now.”

  He gives a satisfied grunt as if I had just cleared up a question in his mind. “Everyone is out back having a good time. You should be there too.”

  “There’s a lot of work to do. I want to get it done. The faster I open shop, the faster I can start my lawsuit against Farnsworth.” I slip under his arm and edge along the counter.

  “You’ve been working since six o’clock this morning.”

  Grabbing a clean cloth from the counter, I make an effort to wipe the dirt off my face. “I’m used to working long hours. I’m not afraid of hard work.” But I am afraid of mercurial fighters who run hot one minute and cold the next.

  His face softens, and he takes the cloth from my hand and holds it under the tap. The pipes gurgle when he turns the rusty faucet and water gushes out, skimming over the cloth and trickling into the sink below. Without warning, he lifts me and settles me on the counter.

  “You don’t have to work like that anymore.” His voice is calm, soothing. I am momentarily lulled out of work mode and into heat mode as he eases his hips between my legs and reaches to turn off the faucet. “It’s Saturday night. Time to relax and have fun.” With a firm hand, he cups my jaw and then wipes the cloth gently over my nose, forehead, and cheeks.

  His gentle touch, the warmth of his hand, his breath, minty and sweet, and his hard body nestled between my thighs all converge in an unbearable rush of sensation. I grab his wrist, forcing his hand away.

  “Jake…I’m good. Really. There’s so much to do. I’ll come out when I’m done and I’ve cleaned myself up.”

  “I like you this way,” he murmurs. “You look…cute. Real.”

  “Real?”

  He brushes his thumb over my cheek. “Amanda without the armor. Your clothes, hair, makeup…nothing is perfect. It’s just the real you. I never got to see the real you before.”

  Torn between being mortified and pleased, I reach for another cloth. “Real Amanda is covered in dirt and has holes in her sweats.”

  He traces a finger down my neck to rest in the hollow at the base of my throat. The room heats to one hundred degrees, and if I’m not mistaken, I hear the sound of my blood boiling.

  “I like holes in sweats.” His voice drops, husky and low, and his finger continues its downward journey into the vee of my shirt.

  “Jake…”

  He traces lightly over the crescent of my breast. “I like dirty girls,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “I can’t stay away.”

  Oh God. Every bit of warmth rushes to my center as his deep, sensual voice ignites one of my dark fantasies. Jake, straddling my bound body, growling commands, telling me what he’s going to do to me in the filthiest language I know. A soft moan escapes my lips and we’re back on the roller coaster again.

  “This game you’re playing confuses me,” I say. His heart beats strong against my palm when I lay my hand over his chest.

  “Me too.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  His eyes take on a feral gleam and my breasts tingle.

  “Playing dirty.” Tangling his hand in my hair, he tugs my head back, exposing my throat to the heated slide of his lips. “Sometimes you have to stop thinking too much and just go with it.”

  My breath comes in short pants as he sucks gently on the pulse at the base of my throat. Barely able to form a coherent thought for the pounding of blood in my temples, I scramble for sanity. “There’s too much between us to just go with it. We need to talk…”

  His hand closes in my hair, twisting roughly. “Lawyers talk. You don’t look like a lawyer now. You look fucking sexy, and your mouth is all lush and pink and needing to be kissed. You want to talk, Amanda, or you want that kiss?” He nips the sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder blade.

 
Pleasure and pain meld together and I whimper as a heated rush of sensation floods my veins. “Kiss.”

  Jake smiles. “My dirty girl wants a dirty kiss.” Holding my face, he slants his mouth over mine and kisses me.

  Soft kiss. Sweet kiss. Warm, firm lips tasting faintly of coffee. His five o’clock shadow brushes my chin as his tongue eases my lips open to stroke against mine. My body melts against him as he explores my mouth, leaving nothing untouched. Tongues wind and tangle. Two years of fantasies coalesce in a single rasping breath.

  “’S not so dirty,” I mumble against his lips.

  “Oh, you don’t know how dirty I can be.” Jake grips my hair and tugs my head back with a firm, hard yank, sending little bolts of lightning straight to my core. Then he kisses me hard and fast. Rough. His teeth scrape my bottom lip as his tongue dives deep, filling me, taking what I have to give and demanding more. The pounding of my heart shifts from lust to fear as he consumes me, and for a moment I worry he has forgotten I need to breathe.

  When he breaks the kiss, I draw in a long, ragged breath. “You never kissed me like that before.”

  “You were never like this before.” His fingers ease up my shirt, his thumb tracing over the crescent of my breasts. “Raw and open, vulnerable, needing my help. So fucking real.”

  My breath catches in my throat as he explores, cupping and squeezing my breasts and then teasing my nipples through my lace bra until they are tight, aching peaks.

  “My clothes. Take them off.”

  Jake’s sensual growl is the only warning I get before his hands slide around my rib cage to unhook my bra. Moments later, I am bared to him, my clothing a soft puddle on the counter, my skin on fire despite the cool night air whispering through the cracks in the window.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers as he palms my breasts. Then he bends down to tease my nipples with his clever mouth, nipping and sucking until I am panting and grinding against his erection, pressing against my throbbing sex.

  “Fuck, baby. Tighten your legs around me and give me what you’ve got. You get off before I get into your pants, I’ll give you a special treat.”

  “I hope that special treat is big and hard and lickable.” I tighten my legs until he is nestled exactly where I need him to be and rock my hips against the bulge in his jeans. He loved my mouth on him before. I only had to lick my lips to find myself on my knees, his hand fisting my hair, his cock hot and heavy in my mouth.

  Jake’s nostrils flare and darken and he reaches for his belt. “Change of plans.”

  Before we can indulge in the change of plans, a door slams. My heart kicks into overdrive at the sound of heels clicking across the floor in the main reception room. Jake helps me tug on my clothes just before the door swings open.

  “Jake, honey? Are you coming back out? Everyone is wondering what happened to you.” The slender brunette who joins us in the kitchen is exactly who I pictured as Jake’s perfect woman when I tortured myself night after night imagining who he was with. She has a tiny pixie face, porcelain skin, and high cheekbones. Gazing up at Jake with liquid brown eyes, she parts her ruby lips and leans up to kiss his cheek.

  My blood turns to ice and my stomach clenches so tight I can barely breathe.

  All cool and calm, Jake gives her a warm smile. “We’ll be out in a sec. This is Amanda. She’s my new tenant.”

  New tenant. Not friend or lover or even ex. I’m the new tenant. And she’s…

  “I’m Sia.” She slides an arm around his bicep and leans in to give him a squeeze.

  For a long, uncomfortable moment I simply can’t speak. This must be the girlfriend Sandy told me about. So what is he doing in the kitchen with me?

  A choked “Hi, Sia” is all I can manage before I slide off the counter. “I think I’ll go check out that barbecue after all.”

  “Amanda.” Jake’s words fade away as I push open the back door and step out into the night.

  First stop: Makayla. I spot her laughing it up with Rampage and Blade Saw beside an overgrown clump of weeds. I plaster a smile on my face and drag her away.

  “You told me he didn’t have a girlfriend.”

  Makayla frowns. “He doesn’t. At least not that Max knows about.”

  “Her name is Sia.”

  “Oh.” Her face pales and my stomach sinks. “Actually she is a girl and a friend but not a girlfriend in the traditional sense of the word. At least not that I’ve heard. He’s more like a stand-in big brother for when Fuzzy’s not around. Something bad happened to her a few years ago and Fuzzy never lets her go out alone.”

  I give a begrudging sniff. “They seem pretty close.”

  Makayla twists her lips to the side. “Well…they spend a lot of time together, but I’ve never seen them kiss or hold hands or be intimate in any way.”

  Jake and Sia choose this moment to join the party. When she clasps his hand and leads him over to the picnic table, my heart squeezes in my chest. “I can’t stay here. We almost…in the kitchen…and now… It’s too humiliating.”

  “No.” Makayla grips my arm and rearranges her features into her cute scowl. “Talk to him. That was your problem before. Too much sex. Not enough talking.”

  Shaking her free, I take a step toward the exit. “If I talk to him, I’ll hear things I don’t want to hear. Better to leave now and imagine them than to stay and find out they’re real.”

  Chapter 8

  DO NOT OPEN

  A week goes by. The Redemption Renovation Extravaganza is a resounding success, as is my furniture and decorating shopping spree. My newly renovated office is clean and fresh and ready for clients.

  Despite the Victorian fittings, I have decorated with corporate style. Navy and gray striped curtains hang from the windows in the massive reception room. Two navy couches and a wingback chair boast matching gray cushions and arm protectors. Glass tables, modern lighting, an abstract sculpture, and an abstract painting of navy and gray lines round out the look.

  After two weeks of hard work and hours of financial analysis since agreeing to open the firm, I have started an eight-million-dollar civil lawsuit against Farnsworth for sexual harassment and effectively forcing me out of the firm. Max wrangled one of his litigation attorneys to help me with the finer details of preparing the complaint and to be on call to help when needed to compensate for my lack of experience. A security blanket. Max style.

  The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee reminds me that I’m wasting my third cup of the morning, and I take a sip and stare at the blank piece of paper on my desk that was supposed to be a completed and actionable marketing plan three hours ago.

  “Excuse me. I’m here about the ad for an office assistant.”

  My head jerks up and my eyes widen when I catch sight of Penny in the doorway, neatly dressed in a peach pencil skirt, cream blouse, and a strand of pearls.

  “Penny! What ad?”

  Penny settles herself in the leather chair across from my desk. “I sensed you were about to advertise in the paper for a personal assistant. Here’s my CV.” She shoves a bundle of papers across the desk and smiles a cheeky Penny smile.

  “What?” My brain is so busy playing catch up, it’s forgotten to tell me what to say.

  “Am I too late?” She looks over her shoulder and then leans forward and peers under my desk. “Did you already hire someone? Is she or he hiding somewhere?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “If you’re planning on dazzling clients with your wit, charm, and eloquence, you may wish to expand your vocabulary.” Penny laughs and leans back in her chair. “Now, I can work eight until eight. Half an hour for lunch. On call weekends and evenings. I’ve taken a tour of the waiting room. A bit disappointing. It looks like a miniature Farnsworth & Tillman but with gray instead of teal. I also see you have monogrammed everything. Again, very Farnsworth & Tillman. I thought you wo
uld have taken the opportunity to do something unique…something you. But we can work on that. The room to the side will serve nicely as my office, but until you have a receptionist, I’ll sit out front.”

  My jaw drops to the desk. “But…but…what about Farnsworth & Tillman? You have a great job there. I can’t pay you anywhere near what you are making with them. I can’t give you the same benefits. I don’t have big, exciting clients. And it’s just me. No gossip. It’s a lose-lose proposition all round.”

  “You’ll need to work on your delivery for future interviews with office staff,” she says lightly. “You’re hiring people, not chasing them away.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Penny smiles. “You don’t have to understand. I’m here and ready to work. Although you probably already know this, my favorite color is yellow. My favorite footie team is Man U. I love creamy desserts, shepherd’s pie, and, of course, I drink tea. I’m a closet death metal fan. Single. No dependents. Family lives in England. I’m still switched into the Farnsworth & Tillman gossip network. And I’ve just had a lovely breakfast with a hard-bodied private investigator named Ray who is looking to take on some extra work. He’ll be here later this afternoon.”

  “Ray?” My mouth drops open. “Ray is going to work for me too? I’m just starting out. I can’t even pay myself, much less you and Ray. I have a handful of pro bono files I brought with me from the community legal aid clinic and only two cases: my lawsuit against Farnsworth and a case for one of the guys at Redemption. There’s also a bogus lawsuit against some of the Redemption fighters that I’ll handle if it becomes real, but that’s it.”

  Her lips curl into a grin. “Good for you, suing Farnsworth. After you called and told me what happened, I wondered if you would. Someone needs to take that puffed up jackass down a peg.” Then her smile fades. “But you do realize he’ll pull out all the stops. A sexual harassment lawsuit could destroy his reputation and dent his humongous ego. He’ll come at you with both guns firing.”

  “I know. I thought about it for a long time, but in the end, I couldn’t just walk away. What if he does it to someone else? How could I live with myself? Men like him get away with harassment all the time, and the more they do, the cockier they become. I couldn’t let it happen. I want him to pay for what he did to me. I’ll run it until I can’t run it anymore, and I’ll make his life damned uncomfortable while I do.”