by Cecy Robson
Okay, here we go. Boob appreciation hour is officially over. “I’m not trying to step on your toes.”
“But?” he asks, leaning back against his chair.
“But nothing. I respect that the decision is ultimately yours. I’m only asking for the opportunity to provide input.” He keeps his expression neutral, and I can’t be sure he’s listening. I force myself to continue. “There have been a few new hires, and a few D.A.s looking to be challenged. I’d like to observe them in court and see how they perform on their feet. More importantly, I want to observe how they interact with victims of the more violent crimes.”
Declan appears anything but pleased. Either I’ve pissed him off or I’ve pushed him into something he’s not ready for. “I’m going to lay it right out for you,” he says, his tone matter-of fact. “SACU is the unit attorneys least want. I’m surprised the A.D.A.s currently there have lasted as long as they have.”
All right. I did annoy him. “They’ve lasted because it takes a while to become acclimated,” I counter. “But once there, they realize their importance and how much the victims and their families depend on them to help them through the process.”
“I’m not saying the work or the victims aren’t important. What I’m saying is no one is exactly begging to work there.”
“I realize SACU is the last place our attorneys want to be placed,” I say, staring straight at him. “Especially those who enter this office strictly to make connections and jump start their political careers. But it’s one of the most important units because of the sensitive subject matter and the degree of violence we see.”
I don’t mean to be so blunt, and maybe he doesn’t either, but here we sit with our gazes locked and the tension between us escalating.
Damn it. Dad wants us to work as a team. But the more we speak, the more I’m reminded Declan doesn’t want to be a part of this unit, and nowhere near me.
I inadvertently trail my fingers above the collar of my dress, it’s a nervous habit, much like when women tuck a strand of their hair behind their ear. But I never tuck my hair with my hearing aids in place. Any sound that brushes too close to the receiver such as the movement of hair, putting on a hat, resting my head against a pillow, even an intimate whisper, creates back noise similar to nails on a chalkboard.
My fingertips stroke close to the swell of my right breast as I think our situation through. I freeze when I realize Declan’s stare is following each subtle movement.
This is too weird. No way can Declan O’Brien be eyeing me like he wants to take a lick.
I ran into him at a restaurant a few weeks back. I was picking up takeout following a five mile run, still wearing the shorts and sports bra I ran in. Of course I had to see him. And of course he had to look good . . . and so did the blonde on his arm. She was a total stick and all legs, wearing a dress I don’t think I could have shoved my left breast into. I’m so not his type. So then why . . .
“I’ll allow the input,” he says.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’ll allow the input,” he says, a little louder.
This time I don’t correct him. I didn’t hear him, too busy watching him watch me which is absolutely ridiculous―ludicrous even―and good God, why does he have to look so good in that damn suit!
“Thank you,” I say, tripping over the word.
I start to stand, but then think better of it, sensing we’re not leaving on the best note. I promised my father I’d try to get along with him, so the least I can do is explain where I’m coming from. “I have a good relationship with Governor McAdams,” I begin.
He frowns like I’m rubbing it in his face. “I know,” he says, his features sharpening. “I’ve heard you’re close to her and a few representatives.”
The representative comment throws me off. It’s just one rep―Trevor Stone―who I know, and we’re not exactly friends. We slept together once following a fundraiser . . . and then again after another political event. Of course, I’m not telling Declan that.
I relax my stance, placing my hands out in front of me. “I’m not trying to drop names to impress you, Declan, nor am I trying to challenge your position in any way.”
“Then what are you trying to do?” He arches a brow when I don’t initially answer and adds “Just so we’re clear, I don’t respond well to threats nor do I bow down to anyone because of who they know.”
It’s taking all I can not to slump in my seat. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Then you need to explain, Melissa. Because believe it or not I’m trying here.”
“I’m just letting you know where I’m coming from.” I sigh, when the air thickens further between us. “What I mean is I’ve met a lot of people doing what I do. And in fighting for victim’s rights as much as I have, I’ve earned a great deal of attention. Some of it’s not good,” I admit, thinking of all the people I’ve pissed off. “And some of it is, like the relationship I have with Governor McAdams. But the strong relationships I’ve made, I’ve earned from trying to help those who’ve been hurt.”
I stand because as much as I’m trying to leave on a good note, Declan’s tightening jaw is like a red flag warning me that I’m going down in flames. “Just understand I would never use who I know against you or disrespect your position. But if I need to help a victim who’s been wronged, I’ll do what it takes to make sure justice is served.”
When he says nothing more, I turn to leave. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
I pause with my hand inches from the knob. Yeah. Me, too.
CHAPTER 3
Declan
Melissa is slow to leave. It doesn’t take a genius to know news of her father’s condition is killing her. But like always, and like me, she tries not to give too much away. She wants some say in how I re-staff SACU. Fine. I’ll give her a say, and maybe a little more, as long as she respects my position and remembers my legal staff answers to me.
In a way, I think I owe it to her. But I owe it to her old man more.
Miles earned my respect from the moment I met him and sat down to interview for the position of Assistant District Attorney. I expected a team of A.D.A.s to be there, maybe even the chief, too. But it was just me and him with only a desk between us.
“Tell me,” he’d said. “What was your best memory from childhood?”
I wore my best suit, had a professional shave and cut that morning, and stopped by church and said a prayer to Saint Jude. I was prepared to respond to any legal scenario, and reference my long list of accomplishments. I wasn’t prepared for that question. Who the fuck asks a question like that?
Miles Fenske. That’s who.
I considered him, my need to “wow” him making me scour through my long list of memories to find the one thing that would most impress him. I could have told him it was when I scored the winning touchdown that secured our Catholic High School as regional champs. I could have slipped in my stint as class president or when I found out I beat out Jay Takahari to become valedictorian. But that wasn’t what Miles was looking for. He was looking for the man behind the attorney he was considering hiring.
“When my father died and I told my mother we were going to be all right.”
Miles paused. He wasn’t expecting that one. I wasn’t either. I didn’t know why I chose that moment, at least not right away.
“Why?” he’d asked.
“I knew we had to be,” I answer without giving it much thought. “She and my younger siblings were counting on me as one of the oldest, and I wasn’t going to let them down.”
“And did you?”
I shook my head slowly. “No. Failure wasn’t an option.”
It was the truth. I didn’t let them down. They needed clothes, books, fuck even toys, we found a way. We made it right.
I watch Mel open the door, racking my brain to figure out how to make things right with her.
The opportunity Miles is offering me is one I’ve earned, and am grateful to have. But I
wasn’t blowing smoke when I told Mel I wouldn’t cave because of who she knows. Thing is, she won’t cave either if she feels anyone has wronged a victim. But what’s going to set her off? She has to know some cases are too weak to try and the best we can do is plead it out. Will she understand, or should I anticipate a verbal ass kicking from the governor?
It’s going to be a kind of dance between me and Mel, making sure we don’t step on each other’s toes. I’ll avoid her feet if I can, but bottom line, I’m the one who leads.
She doesn’t respond when I tell her I’m sorry about her dad, not that I’m going to push. Instead, I watch her slowly walk out, my gaze trailing down her back until it fixes on those two round globes that make up her ass. They press against the fabric of her dress just right, like whoever designed it made it specifically for her and that eye-popping body.
I wish I didn’t want to drag my hands along her gorgeous curves or taste that pouty mouth But I do. Just like I want to feel her body pressed against mine.
Shit. What the hell is wrong with me? As pissed as I was about being placed in SACU yesterday, I woke up hard this morning. Hard for Melissa. Melissa, who can barely stand being in the same room as me.
My eyes scrunch tight as I try to shake away the dream I had about her. We were at a black tie event, the kind where waiters walk around with silver trays packed with champagne and anyone who’s anyone in politics works the room flexing their egos. I was supposed to give some kind of speech. I opted out, returning my place with Melissa’s hand tight in mine.
We had sex in my living room. I can’t remember ever having a dream this graphic. She lay over my leather ottoman on her hands and knees, the skirt of her black beaded gown hiked up to her waist, my mouth buried against her. I tugged off my jacket and tie, managing to pop open the front of my shirt before I couldn’t take it anymore and shoved my pants and briefs down to my ankles.
In those romance movies women like to watch, my thrusts would have been slow and sweet. But there was nothing slow or sweet about what we did. It was sexy, primal; me grunting hard and her hips circling fast. Her hair fell in messy waves around her heated face as she clamped down, turning her head enough to see me, and show me the sexy way she bites down on her bottom lip.
I wasn’t a gentleman in my dream. I was the epitome of an alpha claiming what belongs to him. She loved it, calling out my name and begging me to go faster.
My problem is, I loved it too. A little too much.
I groan, thinking about how hot she made me and entertaining why she made me so hot. Melissa is different. Curvy hips, round perky ass, with what I’m guessing are some serious double-Ds. I usually date the model types, those who spend more time on their hair, shopping, and make-up and less time on anything that really matters. Why? Because they’re not looking for anything serious, and neither am I.
When I take a long hard look at all the political giants I know, every last one of them has a devoted wife, looking adoringly back at them―standing by them, raising their children, spearheading charities, and working tirelessly on their husbands’ campaigns―usually alongside the skanks their husbands are fucking when they’re not around. I’m not exaggerating. It’s what men of power are almost expected to do. But I swear to Christ, I’m not going to be one of them.
My mother, God love her, was one of those “devoted wives” women, working her fingers to the bone to support her family and raise seven children. Adoration lit her eyes whenever my father kissed her, but sadness dulled them each time he stepped foot out of the house. She knew the minute his shift ended at the post office he’d head straight to his mistress’s house and into her bed. All those weekends, when he should have been coming to our games or helping her around the house, he’d spend with that other woman, giving her everything my mother needed and deserved.
Do I believe in love? Not really. Despite that three of my brothers, and now my sister seem to have found it. My mother will swear on a stack of bibles, clutching a rosary that she “loved” my father and always will. But love, real love, shouldn’t threaten to destroy you, or abandon you with seven kids you can barely afford to feed.
Do I believe in marriage? Considering the divorce rate topples over sixty-five percent, I believe in it even less than love.
So yeah, instead of dating women who are looking for a ring on their finger, I date the ones who’d prefer a hot time in bed and not much more. They don’t get attached and neither do I. We have great sex once, maybe twice, and move on.
Commitment? Yeah, of course I’m committed. Committed to being the youngest D.A. in Pennsylvania’s history and the next in line for mayor.
I shove away from my desk and head out, needing some space from the office. This day has screwed with me in more ways than I can count. I started out pissed, thinking Miles had thrown me to the dogs only to find out he has fucking cancer and wants to pass me his crown. I doubt he’d feel the same if he knew how bad I want his daughter.
“Hi, Declan.”
In the short time it takes me to adjust my suit jacket and step into the cubicle-lined hall, Stephanie has hurried out from behind her desk. She tosses her bleached blond hair over her shoulder, giving her breasts an extra thrust forward. Her station is three rows back and to the left of my new office, but even when my office was on the other side of the building she always seemed to find me.
I’d like to say she’s a nice young lady except I’m not convinced she is. Not the way she acts around me and any man she finds attractive. She’s one of the newer clerical staff. I asked her what her goals were when I first met her, thinking she actually wanted to make something of herself. She answered, “Whatever you want them to be.”
Not exactly what I was expecting to hear.
“Hi, Stephanie,” I say, smiling.
She grins, her eyes skipping down the length of my body, flicking her incisor with the tip of her tongue when she reaches my groin. It’s brief, just long enough to be sure I notice. “Congratulations on your promotion,” she says. “No one deserves it more than you.”
In other words, I want you to fuck me.
If she didn’t work here, I probably would. Stephanie’s legs start roughly at her neck and her straight blond hair flows behind her every time she struts in her stilettos. The dresses she wears to show off her double zero body have forced Shayleen, the office manager, to send her home twice for violating the dress code. Stephanie is exactly my type. She’s not really serious about anything, except satisfying her own needs. Not that I’d ever dip my pen in any company ink. Melissa, I remind myself, is not my type. Mel is too grounded, too driven,
too . . .committed.
So why the hell can’t I stop thinking about her?
Melissa doesn’t possess the figure that typically catches my eye. That doesn’t mean she’s not gorgeous. Her brown eyes lure me to her, demanding I pay attention to her angelic and sexy as hell features. Too bad her body usually wins. Just like it did when we were alone in my office.
I could have kicked my own ass for practically ogling her. Around her though, it’s like that straight-laced professional I’ve trained myself to be leaves town and my world stops making sense. She’s supposed to want me. Toss me an inviting glance before she invites me to bed. Whisper dirty thoughts to prove how bad she wants me. I’m not being arrogant. It’s simply a fact. Women have been begging me to pull off their panties since I turned fifteen.
“If you need any help, I’ll be available,” Stephanie says, tossing her hair again.
“Thank you,” I say. I lean and tap on Ellie’s desk. “But I have all I need right here. Right, Ellie?”
Ellie laughs, waving me off as she blushes. “Oh, Declan,” she says.
I walk away with the first genuine grin I’ve flashed since yesterday. Ellie has worked for the county longer than I’ve been alive. She’s sweet, reliable, and ethical. Can’t say the same about Stephanie. The way Stephanie flirts, I’m waiting for the day she gets caught fucking someone she shouldn’t�
�a married attorney, an overworked detective, or a higher-up promising shit he doesn’t intend to make good on. The only thing I’m sure of is she won’t get caught fucking me.
It probably annoyed Stephanie that I paid Ellie more attention than I did her. Not that I care. She may think she has a shot with me, but I don’t take women I work with to bed and I sure as hell keep my distance from those who are spoken for. I don’t like drama and hate scandal. So if she’s looking for a sugar daddy she needs to look elsewhere.
I pass a few more detectives and interns, making the rounds and making it clear I’m staying. I’m not headed anywhere specific, in fact, I should start reviewing the list of candidates for SACU. But I’ve been in my office too long, and with everything that’s happened, I need to move.
Without thinking, I end up in my sister-in-law’s office. Tess, formerly Newart now O’Brien, top grad of U Penn Law, assistant district attorney, and married to Curran, is already knocked up with their second kid. I never expected Curran to get someone as high class as Tess. In fact, we were pretty sure he’d knock up one of those psychos he used to date like that masseuse with the pet monkey.
I rap on the door. “Just a minute,” she calls out. There’s some fumbling before she says, “Come in.”
I swing open the door. “Hey, Tess,” I say. I roll my eyes when I realize who’s here. No wonder she needed a minute.
Her light skin turns a furious red as she leans over her desk and pretends to flip through a law journal. I say “pretend”, because no way would her face be this flushed if she was actually working. And no way was she working with Curran standing that close to her.
“What?” he asks, grinning as his hand strokes down her spine.
I shut the door behind me. “Curran, what the hell?”
“You have a problem with me kissing my wife?” he fires back.
“She’s at work,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
He walks around the desk. “I haven’t seen her since I left for my shift yesterday. You act like we were fu―”