For His Pleasure

by Shelly Bell

  Nancy stood behind him wearing a frown.

  Shit, how long had she been standing there? Had she overheard their conversation? Not that his sex life was anyone’s business, but it wasn’t exactly professional for him to be talking about it at work. Or had she seen him in the closet with Laci?

  First day at work and he’d already fucked up. Rebecca would be so disappointed in him.

  “Cash,” Nancy said solemnly, “you need to come with me.”

  SIX

  For Dreama, employment checks were always a bit weird.

  It was a required part of her job, but it made her feel as if she were a parent checking up on her kid. Back when she had been a teenager, her own mother had done it to her a time or two and it had embarrassed the heck out of her. No one wanted to draw attention to herself at work by having a parent—or in this case, their parole officer—show up.

  But she had to do it at some point, and after staying up half the night thinking about Cash’s comments and Browner’s strange behavior on the phone yesterday, she decided to skip lunch today and use the hour to visit the county’s animal shelter.

  Of all the places she’d gone for employment checks, she could say this location was her favorite. Five minutes inside the lobby, and she’d already gotten to pet two puppies and one kitten.

  She’d spoken to Cash’s supervisor, Nancy, who’d reported that Cash had only been working there a few hours, but so far, there were no problems. Obviously, Nancy didn’t have much to say before she’d gone to get Cash, but she’d left Dreama with the impression that she’d thought it was a bad sign his parole officer was already checking up on him.

  Dreama’s attention was pulled to the door on the right side of the lobby as all six-feet-something of Cash lumbered into the room. Maybe it was because they were outside of the parole office or maybe it was because he was wearing jeans that hugged his thighs just right and a solid black T-shirt that showcased the sculpted muscles of his arms, but all at once Dreama’s mind went blank and other parts lower south lit up like accelerant on a bonfire.

  “Hey,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. “Nancy said you’re here on an employment check?”

  Now she was mesmerized by his chest. He hadn’t seemed this ripped yesterday. “No.”

  “No?”

  Shit. What had he asked? She looked up from his chest and noticed a deep divot between his brows. “Yes, of course I’m here on an employment check.” She could have left it at that, but Nancy was staring at them with her lips pressed together, and Dreama hated that the woman could possibly be unfairly judging Cash for Dreama’s visit. “I know it’s unusual to do an employment check on the first day of work, but I have an ulterior motive. I’d also like to look at the dogs. I thought you could take me back to the kennels and we could talk there.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Nancy’s expression smooth out. Nancy turned away from them and went behind the reception desk.

  Cash shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Sure. Follow me.”

  She did follow him. Problem was, it gave her a great view of his ass in those jeans. Her poor neglected pussy was clenching in a reminder of how long she’d gone without sex. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. Get it together, girl. She could not be lusting after her client. Then again, with her damn phobia, she couldn’t do anything about it even if she wanted to.

  He brought her into a large room with rows of cages. Yeah, she knew they called them kennels to sound better, but the reality was the dogs were in cages, the bigger ones with barely enough space to move. It broke her heart to see it.

  She went over to the closest kennel and knelt down to read the information about the pup. The dog stuck his nose through the chain-link fencing and she rubbed her knuckles against him.

  “I take it you’re a dog lover?” Cash asked, crouching beside her.

  A warmth settled in her belly at his nearness. “Yeah. Um, I know I made it sound like I came here to adopt a dog, but I really am only here to look. I always wanted one when I was a kid. But…”

  “But?”

  How to explain it without sounding as if she was complaining? After all, she was lucky to have two parents who loved her so much. All she knew about Cash’s parents was that they were now both deceased. “My parents were—are—overprotective. Well, my mom anyway. My father just kind of goes along with it.”

  “A dog should’ve been right up their alley. What’s more protective than a loyal dog?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She stood, her legs aching from being in the kneeling position. “But dogs have germs. My mom’s words, not mine. What if the dog licked a paper cut on my finger and it got infected? And of course, dogs bite. Did I want to have my lovely face destroyed by a rabid animal?”

  He winced. “Sounds a bit extreme.”

  Surprisingly comfortable around him, she kept going as they moseyed down the aisle. Some of the dogs were sleeping, but others perked up when they noticed her approaching. “That was nothing. My parents held my hand when we crossed the street until I was ten. I couldn’t go outside without wearing sunblock because she worried that I’d get skin cancer from too much sun. Oh, she worried I’d catch something from using a public toilet. She gave a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘helicopter parent.’ Frankly, it was exhausting just being her daughter, but it was even worse if I tried to reason with her.”

  “What about now that you’re older?”

  Dreama paused, thinking about her mother’s impromptu visit last night. “She still worries, but I’ve gotten better at dealing with it.”

  “So, what’s keeping you from getting a dog now?” he asked.

  She considered it. “I work a lot of hours. I live in an apartment.”

  “Excuses.”

  She shrugged. The truth was she could barely take care of herself these days much less a dog. Even the small task of walking the dog would be hard on her right now. “Yeah. Maybe. What about you?”

  “We’ve got cats,” he mumbled.

  Pretending she didn’t hear, she cupped her ear. “What? I can’t hear you.”

  He groaned. “Cats. They’re my sister’s.”

  “Excuses,” she mimicked. The annoyance in his admission made her smile. “I take it you’re more of a dog person.”

  “I like cats, but yeah, if I had my choice, I’d have a couple dogs. I’ve been home a few days, and I’ve only seen the cats once when they attacked my ankles before hiding underneath my sister’s bed.”

  “What kind of dog would you get?” She stopped in front of one kennel, captivated by one of the ugliest dogs she’d ever seen. The card attached to the cage stated his name was Butch and he was a mix of mastiff and wolfhound.

  She leaned in to get a better look. He was a mix of brown and gray, and although the lighting wasn’t great in the room, she thought she saw some patches of black in his wiry fur too. His snout was unusually shaped, sort of rectangular. But it was his brown eyes edged by bushy gray brows that drew her in. It was like she was peering into the eyes of an old soul, one that had seen the darkest side of life. If circumstances were different, she’d take him home in a heartbeat.

  “Doesn’t really matter to me. But if I had to choose, it would be the forgotten ones, the ones everyone else has given up on. Because all dogs, even the broken ones, deserve to be loved.” He paused for a beat. “Rebecca and I were both adopted. I guess that’s part of why I’ve always felt a kinship with the shelter dogs. When I was a kid, I wondered why my biological parents put me up for adoption and what would have happened if my mom and dad hadn’t adopted me. Would I have ended up broken and unloved like some of the dogs in here?”

  She pulled her gaze away from the dog to look over her shoulder at Cash. Although his eyes were gray, not brown, they held the same wounded wisdom in them. And just like with Butch, she wished circumstances were different. Because in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and press her lips to his
. Afraid he’d see her feelings on her face, she flipped back around to Butch and rested on her haunches.

  “Have you ever looked into finding your birth parents?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping.

  “Actually, yeah. I started the process when Maddie got pregnant because she was worried about unknown genetic or medical conditions that might affect the baby. But after she died and I went to prison, I canceled the paperwork.”

  “Are you still interested? Because it’s actually a lot easier to do than it was eight years ago. There are reunion registries on websites where you can add your information and search for a match. My friend Ryder is using the registries to help find a brother he hadn’t known about until recently. They’re even using DNA now.”

  He lowered himself to his knees, directly beside her, and reached two fingers of his sexy hand through Butch’s cage to rub the top of his snout. “Maybe. I have to admit, Maddie hadn’t been the only reason I started looking for my birth parents. I loved my mom and dad. They were always enough. But my whole life, I’ve felt as if there were unanswered questions hanging over my head, and they won’t go away until I get all the answers.”

  She understood that feeling. Those hours of not knowing why a stranger had broken into her apartment and attacked her had nearly driven her insane. She’d worried he’d come back to finish the job, and she hadn’t calmed until Jane had visited her in the hospital with the full explanation. The man had been looking for a flash drive in Jane’s possession and he wasn’t coming back for Dreama…because he was dead.

  Unanswered questions reminded her of why she was really there at the shelter.

  Dreama hooked a finger around the metal of Butch’s cage. “Yesterday you mentioned you haven’t gotten drunk or been high in over a decade.”

  “Yeah. That’s right.”

  She didn’t understand. “But you took a plea deal. If you were innocent, why plead guilty?”

  “If I went to trial, I was looking at fifteen years behind bars. My defense attorney said the labs from the hospital came back showing an elevated blood alcohol level and there were multiple witnesses that said I’d been drinking champagne.”

  When Butch moved his nose away from Cash and toward her, she took it as a signal he wanted her to pet him. “How much champagne do you remember drinking?”

  “That’s the problem.” He turned his face to look at her. “I don’t remember drinking any of it. I don’t remember anything from the party I attended that night or the accident. One minute Maddie and I were in our car on our way to the party at the zoo and the next I was in the hospital learning from my sister that Maddie had died. The doctors in the hospital said I either suffered from a brain injury in the accident that caused some form of amnesia or that my brain”—he angled his face away from hers and dropped his chin toward his chest—“chose to forget because it was too hard for me to remember.”

  The way he turned from her as he spoke those last words gave her the impression he believed them. He felt guilty because he believed he was guilty. But if he’d gotten drunk at the party, it would have taken a big guy like him several glasses of champagne to get drunk. How much champagne could he have drunk from the time he arrived to the time he left?

  “What did your attorney say when you told him that you don’t remember drinking and that you hadn’t been drunk in years?” she asked.

  He frowned. “I spent maybe ten, fifteen minutes with the guy. He told me he’d go to trial if I wanted, but with the evidence against me, it was risky.”

  That wasn’t unusual. Public defenders were notoriously overworked and underpaid. “Why did you choose to use a public defender rather than hiring an attorney?”

  “I considered it. My sister and my boss, Thomas, both argued with me over it. Thomas even offered to pay. But I didn’t want to put my mother or sister through a trial, especially if it was unlikely that a jury would find me innocent.” He exhaled a shaky breath, and when he spoke again, his tone was choked with guilt and regret. “Fact was, I caused the crash that killed Maddie. I lost her and our son that night. I deserved to go to prison.”

  She didn’t agree. In her eyes and, more importantly, the eyes of the law, there was a huge difference between an accident and manslaughter. “Your hospital labs weren’t in your file and your Breathalyzer was under the legal limit. Did your attorney ever show you the results from either?”

  “No.” Confusion swirled in his gray eyes. “My Breathalyzer was under? I could have sworn…” He shook his head.

  “What?”

  He let out a short, bitter chuckle. “I never thought to ask. I’d just assumed it had been above the limit. My defense attorney never mentioned it.”

  “Stephen Browner?” she clarified.

  “Yeah. That was his name.”

  Overworked and underpaid was no excuse for malpractice. Public defenders still had the responsibility of giving their clients a competent defense.

  “I called him,” she said. “He claimed he didn’t remember your case.”

  Cash’s brows dipped as if he had no idea why that fact was significant. “Okay. It was a long time ago.”

  She lifted her butt off her haunches and went to her knees. “He was lying, Cash. He slipped up and mentioned Maddie by name.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “And he was really evasive. I got the impression he was hiding something.”

  There was something about Cash that called to the warrior inside of her, the same part that had led her to get her social work degree. She’d always gone above and beyond for her clients, whether it was helping them to regain visitation of their kids or finding them an Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor. Making a phone call on Cash’s behalf wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for any of her other clients.

  Yet, if she was being honest with herself, it was different because while she always championed her clients, this particular one felt a lot more personal. She wanted to believe he was innocent. Maybe it was because of the kindness he’d shown her in the lobby during her meltdown, or maybe it was because as hard as he’d tried to pretend he wasn’t a good man, she couldn’t help but like him, but she needed to prove to herself that her instinct was right.

  It gave her a sense of purpose. She might not be able to help herself right now, but she could help Cash.

  She should go back and look at Browner’s history at the public defender’s office. Maybe he’d encouraged all his clients to take a plea deal out of sheer laziness. If she could find proof that Browner had intentionally withheld the results of the Breathalyzer from Cash, the court might not find it was enough to overturn Cash’s conviction. But if she found evidence that it was a common practice of Browner so that he could get his clients to take a plea deal, Cash might have a shot at getting the court to consider it.

  Excited by the idea, Dreama temporarily forgot that her legs didn’t work the way they used to and tried to get to her feet too quickly. Sharp pain, like a dozen knives slicing into her skin all at once, wrapped around her thighs. Her muscles resisted the move and refused to support her weight. Toppling sideways, she prepared herself to feel the slam of cold concrete against her shoulder, but instead, she felt only cradling warmth.

  There were a few brief moments where her mind allowed herself to indulge in the sensation of Cash’s strong arms around her waist and the solidness of his chest against her back. But then, like a nightmare creeping in to steal the bliss of a dream, ice-cold fear consumed her.

  Cash and the animal shelter disappeared. All she knew was pain and despair. There was a heavy weight on her chest, pressing her into the carpet, and hands at the waistband of her sweatpants. She wanted to fight him, but she was a prisoner inside her broken body.

  She’d rather die than deal with what was coming next.

  A faraway voice broke through the darkness. “Shh. You’re safe, Dreama. No one is touching you.”

  Her eyes opened.

  She was lying on the floor. Dogs were barking and one
was whining. Her thighs still ached, but all the other pain had gone. She turned her head to the right. Cash was kneeling over her, his hands in his lap. Behind him, a whining Butch was butting his head up against the front of his kennel as if trying to get to her.

  Mortified that she’d melted down again in front of Cash, she slowly got up off the ground, using Butch’s cage to help her. As soon as she got to her feet, Butch stopped whining.

  Cash stood. “Dreama, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  There was a divot between his brows and concern in his eyes.

  She hated being weak. This wasn’t her. And she hated that Cash had been a witness to it—twice.

  “I need to get back to work,” she said, refusing to look at him before limping away.

  He didn’t stop her.

  Twenty minutes later, she’d returned to her desk and was about to call her first afternoon client back when Meg called her down to her office.

  Forgoing any fake pleasantries, Meg began her interrogation the second Dreama stepped into the room. “Where have you been?”

  Dreama was not in the mood for Meg’s passive-aggressive bullying. “I was doing an employment check.”

  “On who?”

  Why did Meg care? Dreama folded her arms across her chest and stayed standing by the door. “Cash Turner.”

  Meg played with her glasses. “Interesting. I received a call from an attorney who said you’d phoned him last night to ask him questions about that very same case.”

  Stephen Browner had called Meg? What an asshole.

  “I did,” she admitted, not seeing the problem.

  “He claimed that after informing you he was unable to answer questions because he was bound by attorney-client privilege, you proceeded to threaten and harass him.”

  She strode toward Meg’s desk. “I did no such thing! He’s lying.”

  Meg reclined in her chair with a smug grin on her face. “He had no reason to lie. You, on the other hand…”

  Dreama’s leg was throbbing, but she remained standing. “I’m telling the truth. There were inconsistencies in his file and I had some questions about them.”