by Lisa Childs
He groaned with two kinds of frustration. He’d thought she was finally going to listen to him. And he wanted her. His control snapping, he reached for her, closing his hands around those sexy bare shoulders. “Damn, woman, you are so infuriating!”
She smiled and acted all innocent. “Me?”
He laughed. Nobody had ever challenged him like Hillary did. In the courtroom and out of it.
But she wasn’t fighting him now. She reached for the buttons of his shirt. He’d left his jacket and tie in his SUV, along with his briefcase. Just as she had before, she jerked his shirt open. A button pinged off her desk and another off the wall.
“My dry cleaner wonders what the hell’s been happening to my buttons,” he teased.
“Did you tell her?” she asked.
“I showed her,” he said.
She tensed and pulled back. And he saw on her face what she’d made him feel that night when he’d shown up along with dopey Dwight at her door. Jealousy.
He grinned, as something warm rushed over his heart. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Jealous?”
She narrowed her eyes in a glare. “You’re just proving my point. It was a crime of passion.”
“That’s what I told the dry cleaner,” he said.
She laughed. “You probably just threw out the shirts and bought new ones.”
She knew him too damn well. That was why she was such a formidable adversary in court and such a thorough and exciting lover.
He tugged off her camisole and found another nude lace bra beneath. “Isn’t that what you did?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I have several of these. They don’t show beneath my clothes.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry I’m not like the lingerie models and designers you date.”
“Not me,” he corrected her. “My partners date those women.”
“What kind of women do you date?” she asked, cocking her head as if interested but also a tiny bit jealous.
He loved that jealousy on her. It felt better there than feeling it himself. “Oh, smart, practical women who buy bras that won’t show beneath their clothes.”
She smiled.
He fingered the strap of her bra before he reached for the clasp behind her back. He undid it and pulled it from her beautiful breasts. “But if you have more than one of these, why did you want that one back?” he asked.
Her smile turned into a grimace. “I didn’t want you showing it to anyone else.”
“You’re the only one who saw it,” he assured her.
And she released a breath of release.
“But your panties...” He waited for a long moment before adding, “...are dangling from my rearview mirror.”
And she smacked his shoulder. And laughed.
There was something about her laugh that reached inside Stone, that wrapped around his heart and squeezed it tightly. As much as he enjoyed sparring with her in court and having sex with her out of it, he enjoyed talking to her, joking around with her.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked.
It had hurt—that twinge in his heart. But he rubbed his shoulder instead and groaned. “Yeah, woman, you don’t know your own strength.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged his head down toward hers. Then she kissed him—deeply, passionately—her lips nibbling on his before she slid her tongue into his mouth.
She tasted like chocolate again. But it wasn’t dark this time. It was smooth and mild. Milk chocolate...
He smiled against her lips. Just like the nude bra, he found it incredibly sexy. Hell, he found everything about her sexy.
That twinge struck his heart again, and he recognized it this time. It was fear.
* * *
Stone’s lips stilled beneath hers. He wasn’t kissing her back. He was in a strange mood tonight. Playful one minute, morose the next.
She pulled back and asked, “What’s wrong?”
But he didn’t answer her. He only stared at her with an intensity she’d never seen in him before. She’d always considered Stone intense. Then he lifted her up and clutched her closely to his chest. His hair tickled her nipples, making them taut and sensitive.
A moan slipped through her lips. She arched her neck, and his lips were there, sliding down her throat. He nibbled and suckled.
“Are you trying to give me a hickey for court?” she asked.
He chuckled. “That’s a good idea. Maybe if you wore a turtleneck, you wouldn’t distract me so damn much.”
“I distract you?”
His eyes widened as he stared. He eased her back and moved his gaze over her, from her tousled hair over her bare breasts down to her feet, which were bare too since she’d kicked off her shoes a while ago.
“You know you distract me.”
She’d thought so, but she’d wondered if she’d only been fantasizing again, like she used to about him. “I thought I was just cute.”
His lips curved into a grin. “I can’t let you have the upper hand.”
Would that always be the issue with them? They’d always be jockeying for position? For the victory?
Before she could think about it any more, he lowered his head to hers and kissed her deeply. When he pulled back, she was panting for breath, and so was he. But he managed to say, “I think you’re beautiful.”
It could have been a line. But that didn’t seem like Stone’s style. He didn’t have to sweet-talk women to get them into bed, especially not her as he was already well aware. So he must have just said it because he meant it.
Warmth rushed through her heart, then moved lower, burning in her core. She wanted him so badly. Her hand shook as she reached for his belt, but she managed to unclasp it. Then she lowered his zipper and freed his penis. It was engorged, a vein standing out.
He wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. She pushed down his pants and his boxers. And her breath whistled out in appreciation. “You’re the beautiful one,” she murmured.
No. Stone Michaelsen didn’t need to sweet-talk women to seduce them. All he had to do was be—Stone.
He shook his head, though, as if he didn’t believe her. But before she could argue with him, he covered her mouth again with his. Then he covered her breasts with his hands. He cupped them and teased the nipples with his thumbs.
She moaned against his mouth. And he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside, and as he did, he bunched up her skirt, pushed aside her panties and slid his fingers inside her. She was so ready for him that she nearly came then. But he pulled his hand back. As he had that first night, he lifted her onto her desk and dropped to his knees.
She would have never believed in a million years that she would bring Stone Michaelsen to his knees not once but twice. But then she was the one writhing and begging for more. She was so close...
But each time she nearly came, he pulled back and moved his tongue or his fingers.
And she murmured in frustration. “Stone...” His name was a plea.
Instead of answering, he just flicked his tongue across her clit.
“Stone!” She covered her breasts with her hands and stroked the nipples herself, and as she did, she came.
And Stone groaned. “You’re going to make me come, too.”
“That’s the idea,” she said, and she reached for him.
But he pulled back and pulled out a condom instead.
Why wouldn’t he let her go down on him? Was it an issue of control?
Because he’d just had full control over her. And now he did again as he turned her over her desk so her ass was in the air. He eased his way inside her core, thrusting deep. And his hands cupped her breasts now, like she’d wanted. He stroked her nipples and nibbled on her neck as he bent over her, bent over the desk.
And he took her, thrusting deep. She arched bac
k, grinding her butt against him—meeting his every thrust. They moved together in a frantic rhythm. He was as desperate for release as he’d just had her. She could feel it in the mad pounding of his heart against her back, in the shakiness of his hands on her breasts...
The tension wound tightly inside her again. He moved one hand from one of her breasts and stroked his thumb over her clit. And she came again, barely suppressing the urge to scream his name. But she wasn’t sure they were entirely alone in the office.
Sure, it was after hours, but the cleaning crew might have been around yet. She hoped not, though, because she hadn’t been quiet.
He was, as he buried his face in her neck, clutching her against him, his cock pulsating as he came. A deep groan escaped his lips.
A sound echoed it, the sound of something rattling outside the door. It must have been the cleaning crew’s cart.
Hillary gasped and pulled away from him. She dressed quickly, making sure she found her bra this time.
Stone had dressed, too, but he had a gap on his shirt where two buttons were missing. “Crime of passion,” he said, gesturing at the loose threads.
Hillary smiled. “You don’t give up.” And maybe that was it, what all having sex with her was—a way to win. Her smile slid away and she sighed before asking, “Okay, why would her lover have killed her?”
Stone’s eyes brightened to a shiny silver. He thought he’d swayed her.
“I don’t think you’re right,” she warned him. “But give me the lover’s motive for killing her.”
“If the husband can be jealous, so can the lover,” Stone pointed out. “Maybe he wanted her all to himself, and she wouldn’t leave her husband.”
A little doubt began to niggle at Hillary. “You mean his millions.”
“Billions,” he automatically corrected her. “And yes, she knew that the prenup locked her into the marriage. If she left, she got nothing.”
“But why would the lover kill her?” Hillary persisted. “Why wouldn’t he kill Mueller? Then he’d get the woman and the money.”
Stone groaned. “You are so damn stubborn.”
She shook her head. “I’m right.”
But he had a point. She needed to find out who the lover was. Then she’d know the truth beyond a reasonable doubt. And so would the jury.
“What are we?” she wondered aloud and hated herself for asking the question. Like Dwight had said, she wasn’t one of those girlie girls who wanted a relationship or, worse yet, to discuss a relationship. She didn’t care what they had. She knew it wasn’t going to last. “Forget I asked that. I know what we are.”
He arched a dark brow. “Lovers?”
“Opposing counsel,” she replied.
“Really?” Stone asked. “Seems like we’re both on the same page for this case. We both want justice.”
She snorted. “I want justice. You want to win the trial.”
“I will win.” And he said it as if he was warning her.
Did he have some trick up his sleeve like he usually did? Was he going to use their—whatever it was—against her?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HE’D LIED TO HER. Stone was not convinced that he was going to win. He wasn’t sure that he could, especially with his client stonewalling him.
“I can’t put you on the stand,” Stone said, “not until you tell me everything.”
Byron stared across the conference room table at him. They weren’t at the jail, which should have made it easier for Stone to relax. There was still a guard posted outside the courthouse conference room where Stone had been allowed to meet with his client before the next session began. But it wasn’t the guard making him uneasy; it was the fact that he knew Byron was holding back.
“You know who her lover was,” Stone said. If he knew, he must have had a reason for keeping it quiet. He certainly wasn’t protecting the man with whom his young bride had been cheating on him.
Had he killed him, too? The horrible thought flickered through Stone’s mind and chilled his blood. And for once he saw what Hillary saw about his job—that he might actually be helping a killer elude justice.
And if he eluded justice, he was bound to kill again. If he hadn’t already...
“She cannot be right,” he murmured. About Byron or about him.
It wasn’t as if Stone wanted the guilty to go free. That wasn’t why he’d chosen to become a criminal defense lawyer. It was that he wanted to make sure everyone got fair representation—because his mother sure hadn’t.
If only she’d been sentenced to rehab instead of jail.
She might have been able to kick her drug habit and her husband to the curb. He sighed and rubbed his hand around the back of his neck where all his tension had gathered.
This was the kind of tension that not even a soul-shattering orgasm with Hillary could ease.
Byron leaned across the table and grasped Stone’s arms. “She’s not right,” he said. “I did not kill my wife.”
“What about her lover?” Stone asked.
Byron’s brow furrowed with confusion.
“Did you kill him?” he asked.
Byron’s face flushed. “I am not a killer.”
And once again Stone believed him. But that didn’t make his job any easier. In fact, it made it a hell of a lot harder. Just like Hillary made him.
Just thinking about her had more tension gripping him, coiling low in his groin. He groaned and shook his head. “I can’t put you on the stand.”
“But you believe me,” Byron pointed out. “The jury will, too.”
“I’m not worried about the jury,” Stone said. “I’m worried about Hillary Bellows.”
“What about her?”
“I think she’s good,” Stone said. Maybe even better than he was. “She’s so good that she might be able to get out of you whatever the hell you’re afraid to tell me.”
Byron shook his head. “No way in hell. She won’t get to me.”
That was what Stone had once thought, too. He shook his head. “I can’t risk it. I can’t risk another damn surprise in this trial.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Ask for a recess until tomorrow,” Stone said. It would buy him some time to think. If he didn’t put Byron on the stand now, when the jury knew he was supposed to testify...they would think he’d changed his mind for a reason, that Byron had something to hide.
Unfortunately, they were right.
Was he? Was he only convincing himself of Byron’s innocence in order to save face with Hillary? Hell, he should be more worried about his conscience than her.
But it felt like she had become his conscience and more...
Too much more.
* * *
Hillary stood in the elevator, staring up at the numbers flashing above the doors. Her briefcase hung from her hand. It had never felt as heavy as it did right now with the envelope inside it.
Was she doing the right thing?
Should she have brought it here? Or straight to court?
Her boss had said that he wanted to be notified the minute she got any new evidence. This information would guarantee a conviction. Wilson Tremont would undoubtedly want to present it to the judge himself. He would want the win against Stone Michaelsen on his record, even though Hillary had done all the work.
She hadn’t had anything to do with this, however. The evidence had just dropped into her lap like those bank statements. She didn’t want to win like this.
And most especially, she didn’t want to blindside Stone again.
But was it going to blindside him?
Or did he already know?
He had to know, right?
Byron Mueller was his client. Surely, he would have told Stone everything. The elevator stopped smoothly on the top floor of the building. She
had no more time to think, to figure out what was the right thing to do.
The doors slid open. And Hillary wasn’t sure if she was in an office or a penthouse. The floors were hardwood, the walls exposed brick, and the tall windows looked onto the lights of Midtown.
So this was how the other half lived? The half who represented the criminals and killers?
She uttered a soft sigh as she gazed around and she felt a flash of envy. She also felt a flash of empathy for the kid Stone had once been—a child of drug dealers who’d run away to live on the streets.
He’d come a hell of a long way—much farther than she had. She smiled as she thought of the different paths they’d traveled. She’d started out here with a wealthy father who’d tried to give her everything to make up for the untimely death of her young mother. She’d gone to the best boarding schools and colleges.
She’d made connections there, even more than she had through her father. But she’d wanted to make her own way, like Stone. So she’d switched to her mother’s name and lived only off the meager salary she drew from the district attorney’s office. And she was probably just as happy as Stone was here in the penthouse-like luxury offices of Street Legal.
Her heels clicked against the hardwood as she stepped out of the elevator. A guy met her at the glass doors of the lobby. He was stepping out of them while reaching for the security panel next to them, probably to lock them. He glanced up as he saw her.
“Ms. Bellows?”
She was usually good with faces, but she couldn’t quite place his. He had dark hair and a dark complexion. And as he reached out for her hand, she noticed the tattoo peeking out beneath the cuff of his shirtsleeve. He was a former gang member.
One who worked at the after-school program to which she’d sometimes sentenced young offenders back when she’d worked juvenile cases.
“Miguel,” she greeted him. “I didn’t realize you worked here.” They hadn’t talked about themselves, though, just about the kids they’d both been trying to save. His program was the only thing for which she’d ever asked her father for money. He still contributed—more than she did.
He nodded. “Yeah, I go way back with these guys. I haven’t seen you in a while.”