Lucky 7 Brazen Bachelors Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “Let me go,” he wheezed. “I’ll finish what my dad started. Leave my brother alone,” he spat at Bryn.

  As Daniel tackled him to the floor, Paul got in a powerful punch to Daniel’s face, bloodying his lip before two more bailiffs dragged him after Winsor. A quick glance confirmed to Daniel that his client was being ushered out of the courtroom. Just before he disappeared around a corner, Kyle looked back at Daniel, his expression one of shock.

  Bryn half-leaned against the table. Daniel rushed up to her. With one hand under her elbow and the other wrapped around the back of her neck, he looked into her dazed eyes. Unlike him, dragging air in and out of his billowing chest, she seemed unable to breathe. “Bryn, are you okay? Bryn!”

  She just looked at him. He ran his eyes over her body, trying to assess if she was hurt. Her throat was red from where Winsor’s fingers had squeezed her delicate skin. Her jacket had been wrenched to the side, and her button-down shirt ripped open, exposing part of a lacy pink bra covering a rounded breast. His heart slowed its awful pounding when she finally managed to take in some air.

  “You’re okay,” he reassured her. And himself. When he reached out to straighten her clothes, he noticed a dark mark just above the breast that peeked out from behind her shirt. Thinking it was a bruise, he pushed the fabric back. Not a bruise. A tattoo. A scrolled heart on her pale ivory skin.

  Daniel raised his brows and glanced at Bryn. She was still shaken, leaning into him. From what he knew of her, she never let herself lean on anyone. He stared into her eyes and felt the oddest tightening in his chest, as if something had burrowed inside him. He tightened his arm just as she seemed to get a hold of herself, pulled away, and began buttoning her blouse.

  “Bryn—” he began, but was immediately jostled aside by Linda Mendell, the court reporter. The woman, who was built like a freight train, grabbed Bryn’s arm, yanked her upright, and led her toward the judge’s chambers. Bryn looked back at him, golden eyes wide, and he felt a sensation in his gut.

  He’d been sucker-punched, hard, and not just by old man Winsor.

  Wild for Mr. Wrong: Chapter Two

  “Now there’s a woman just waiting for an excuse to cut off a man’s balls and stuff them down his throat.”

  Knowing exactly who Vance was talking about, Daniel turned to watch Bryn walk into the lawyer’s pit. Just as Vance had described, she looked more than capable of cutting down a man’s…ego.

  His, to be precise. She’d certainly been taking her best shot lately.

  A week had passed since the attack, and Bryn had recovered well. Too well. She’d returned to court the next day with her armor perfectly in place. Although she’d always been cool to him, she’d recently perfected the art of freezing him out.

  The morning after she’d returned to work, Daniel asked her how she was feeling. She actually snorted, shooing him off with a casual wave of her hand, as if being attacked in court was an everyday affair for her. Then she pissed him off. “As if you care,” she said, then continued, saying, “What? Are you looking to cop another feel?”

  For one of the few times in his life, Daniel was speechless. Incensed, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Screw copping a feel. He’d fuck her until she couldn’t walk, until she couldn’t breathe from the multiple orgasms he’d give her.

  He was about to reach for her when he noticed she wouldn’t look him in the eye. And that her hands weren’t quite steady.

  Very unusual for the fearless DA. He continued to stand there, saying nothing. When she looked up, he held her gaze for several moments before deciding not to push. Since then, she’d continued to treat him with equal parts disdain and hostility. The thing was, he wasn’t so easily fooled. Or dissuaded.

  One of the things that made Daniel such a great lawyer was his unfailing patience and determination. That didn’t mean he won all of his criminal defense cases—he hadn’t even won most of them. Of the hundreds of defendants he had represented in the past six years, only twenty had resulted in hung juries, and only fourteen had been acquitted. But in criminal defense litigation, a fifteen percent success rate was almost unheard of. He had confidence as a lawyer, and as a lover. He wanted Bryn. She wanted him. Sooner or later, it was going to happen.

  As she walked past him, Daniel met Bryn’s gaze. Was it just his imagination, or did her leggy stride seem to falter a bit? She swept past, leaving behind the faint scent of roses he’d come to associate with her. Another surprise.

  Which got Daniel to thinking of that tattoo, placed so alluringly on the swell of her left breast. He’d been obsessing over it. When had she gotten it? Did she have more? A tattoo certainly didn’t jibe with her kick-ass, straight-laced, prosecutor image. He was still pondering the possibilities when the clerk stood and announced Judge Lancaster’s arrival. “All rise…”

  *

  Bryn set down her stack of files and took a seat next to her investigating officer. Reluctantly, her gaze sought Daniel.

  Her attraction to the man had always been disturbing, but work had always been a good distraction. As had his indifference. But now, since Winsor’s attack, Daniel seemed determined to charm her. Now, he took care to strike up a conversation, to casually touch her shoulder, or to simply smile from across the room, his eyes heated and intense. Now, every time she looked at him, she was assaulted by memories of being in his arms. And how good that had felt.

  She’d been terrified when Winsor had grabbed her. Had struggled to catch her breath afterward. Had trembled for hours. She still felt a jitter now and again when she walked to her car after work or was home alone. But the memory of Daniel’s concern and the temptation of his current interest overshadowed the fear.

  Her response to Daniel made her feel weak in a way Winsor’s attack hadn’t been able to.

  Taking a deep breath, determined to get Daniel Mays out of her head, she took out her smartphone, checked her e-mail, and frowned. There was a text from Tam.

  Found someone even better than Thad. He’ll pick you up tomorrow night at six-thirty. Your mom’ll be speechless.

  The first thing Bryn thought was: Speechless was good.

  Speechless meant her mother wouldn’t corner her and “express her concern” about Bryn’s lack of male companionship, yet again.

  But Tam’s message was both unexpected and vague, which made Bryn instinctively suspicious, which in turn made her feel guilty. She liked Tam. Trusted her. But it wasn’t like they were lifelong friends or anything. Still, she’d been the one to ask Tam about Thad. And the notion that her friend was trying to do Bryn a favor made her feel…well, cared for, and she hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

  Her fingers hovered over the keyboard of her phone, ready to type the message, “No, thanks.” Instead, she pursed her lips, then put her phone away. Perhaps it was time she started letting Tam in a little closer. Besides, how bad could this setup be? It wasn’t like she was looking for a relationship here. The guy would be there to create a barrier between her and her mother, and that’s all that mattered.

  With a sigh, Bryn shifted through her stack of files. The clerk asked the bailiff to escort the jury into the courtroom. As they waited, Bryn felt Daniel’s gaze on her. It took everything she had not to turn his way.

  During his efforts to talk with her, he’d taken her repeated verbal jabs at his profession with equanimity. More often than not, he’d give her a slightly chiding look, as if he knew she was purposefully trying to keep him at a distance. Sometimes he’d use her insult as an opportunity to share personal information about himself or to start an intellectual discussion. Try as she might, she couldn’t get him to go away. And the worst part of it was, she didn’t want him to.

  But she had to be strong, despite the dreams that were coming more often now. In between fantasies of licking the cleft in his chin while he lifted her skirt and pressed himself into her, she’d remember everything else she was missing from her life. Not just the sex. That had never been particularly good for her, anyway.
But she’d almost forgotten how good it felt to have a man to talk to. To laugh with. To rely on.

  She couldn’t rely on Daniel. Tam had admitted he was a player. Even worse, he was also a defense attorney and therefore wasn’t someone she wanted any part of.

  For an instant, she remembered the fear on her sister’s face five years ago. Bryn had just started law school and was home on break. She and Carin had gone out partying together. When they’d met up again, Carin was bruised up and crying and, although she’d tried to deny it at first, she’d finally confessed that her date, Carl Pageant, had pushed her to go farther sexually, then attacked her when she’d said no.

  He’d raped her little sister.

  And he’d done it when Bryn was supposed to be watching over her.

  At the time, Bryn had been considering going into defense work, but after Pageant’s lawyer got him off on a technicality, she’d switched her emphasis to prosecution.

  It wasn’t fair to lump all defense attorneys into the same mold. She shouldn’t think poorly of all of them, but that didn’t mean she had to date one, either.

  Yet sometimes…when she looked at Daniel…

  Knowing it would mean more time spent with him, she’d wanted to cry when Kyle Winsor refused to plead out. The trial had only lasted two days, with the closing statements scheduled for today, but even that had been too long. Daniel was like a drug. The more she was around him, the more she wanted him.

  Instead of crying, she’d acted like a royal bitch over the course of the trial. Daniel didn’t seem to mind. The man was unbelievably persistent. A freaking masochist, Bryn thought crossly. But a talented one. As much as she hated to admit it, she was having to work hard to get a conviction in this case.

  Juries sometimes had a hard time relying on circumstantial evidence to convict career criminals, let alone a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old who managed to exude both boyish sincerity and an eagerness to please. Combine that with Mays’s own lethal brand of persuasiveness and a jury would be sorely tempted to believe Kyle Winsor’s testimony that he had nothing to do with the burglary of his former employer’s store.

  But Bryn wasn’t beaten yet. She didn’t blame the son for his father’s actions, but based on the evidence, Kyle’s guilt was clear. She could only hope the jury would see through Kyle’s act, and she planned to focus on this theme during her closing argument.

  For the next forty-five minutes, Judge Lancaster instructed the jury. At one point, Daniel watched her so intently she could no longer stand it. She turned to look at him. When he arched a brow and smirked, amusement and desire jolted through her. To cover her reaction, she raised her own brow and tried to stare him down. Eons seemed to pass, neither one of them willing to look away. She’d just started wondering how he’d gotten the small scar on his left cheek when someone said her name, jolting her attention back to the trial.

  “Ms. Donovon?” Judge Lancaster sounded annoyed. “The jury is waiting for your closing argument.”

  Heat suffused her entire body. Oh, God! What was wrong with her? She’d actually forgotten where she was. “Thank you, your honor.”

  She didn’t get up right away. She took a sip of water and mentally composed herself. When she rose, she did so with outward confidence, and then addressed the jury.

  Bryn soon forgot her embarrassment and lost herself in her argument. In summarizing the evidence, Bryn emphasized Kyle Winsor’s motive to burglarize Bill Sherman’s auto store (Sherman had fired him days earlier), the burglars’ familiarity with Sherman’s schedule (the burglary had occurred at 2:30 p.m., when Sherman customarily left for lunch) and the layout of the store (the burglars knew the location of the hidden safe), and the criminals’ use of a faulty window lock to gain entry.

  “These are all facts,” she said, “that required insider information. Not surprising, then, that one of the burglars named Kyle Winsor as an accomplice. Also remember that Winsor tried to run when he was approached by Detective Lance Romero the next day. You can use this flight as evidence of Winsor’s consciousness of guilt. Why would he have run if he had nothing to hide? No matter how much he wants to charm you into believing he is innocent, the evidence indicates otherwise. This young man needs to take responsibility for his actions, rather than relying on good looks and an engaging smile to make his way in the world.”

  At this last statement, Bryn looked pointedly at Mays, who smiled slightly in acknowledgment at her small dig.

  Bryn concluded her argument by summarizing the elements of burglary as well as the appropriate standards of proof. When she thanked the jurors, she could see she had reached some of them. With renewed confidence, she returned to her seat, and the jurors switched their attention to Mays.

  Mays took more time than usual to respond. He reclined back in his seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his chin resting on his two index fingers. After a couple of seconds, Mays rose, patted Kyle Winsor on the back, and deliberately remained silent for an additional two or three seconds. The first thing he did was agree with Bryn.

  “The evidence in this case is certainly damaging, ladies and gentlemen. If I was forced to hazard a guess, I’d have to say chances were pretty good that young Kyle here was involved in this crime.”

  Bryn frowned, not fooled for a second. She knew from past experience where Mays was going with his argument. Set up a straw man and knock it down. Sure enough, he continued, “That’s what the prosecution is asking you to do today. Look at the evidence they’ve given you and make your best guess. Well, to quote the late Ann Richards, who made this Southern expression famous: ‘That dog won’t hunt.’ As an individual, you’ve already made your best guess about Kyle’s guilt or innocence. But as a juror, are you prepared to say there’s absolutely no reasonable doubt in your mind that maybe, just maybe, Kyle really was just an innocent bystander in all of this?”

  Two jurors, appearing entranced by Mays’s argument, shook their heads.

  “Let’s talk about an issue Ms. Donovon brought up, something having to do with outward appearances. Are we asking you to acquit Kyle because of his looks? Absolutely not. But a person’s looks, their demeanor, their ability to look you in the eye, is the very thing you’re here to judge. How else are you going to determine whether you believe Kyle or not? Is he credible? I believe he is. The evidence, on the other hand, simply is not.

  “First, let’s address the question of flight. My client admits he ran away from Detective Romero. Well, look at him.” Daniel gestured to the beefy detective in the first row. “He’s a pretty intimidating guy. I’m a grown man, and I’d run if Mr. Romero approached me.”

  The jurors chuckled at this as if agreeing that they, too, would hate to be approached by the mountain of a detective with tree trunk-sized arms.

  Mays continued, “When you look at Kyle, does he look like someone who would jeopardize his future for a quarter cut of an $800 take? Now, I’m not saying you can look at Kyle and see the truth, but you can certainly take into account everything you’ve observed about him in the last few days. Has he struck you as someone who would hang out with three high school delinquents with nothing better to do than smoke pot and look for their next score? No. Kyle has testified that he had nothing to do with the burglary of Mr. Sherman’s store, and the prosecution has given you nothing to concretely counter that. They’ve given you circumstances and suspicions, that’s all.

  “Now, Ms. Donovon is just about the prettiest lawyer I’ve ever met. She’s also one of the most talented. But she’s right: Appearances aren’t enough to acquit a man, and they are certainly not enough to convict one.”

  At first Bryn thought she had misheard him. Had he actually referred to her looks during his closing argument? Apparently so, since every eye in the courtroom, including Judge Lancaster’s, had turned toward her.

  Bryn blushed, but before she could object to Mays’s personal aside, he said with a smile, “Now, I can tell by looking at Ms. Donovon’s face that we’re going to be having a
little ‘come to Jesus’ meeting for my chauvinistic comment, but I do have a point, so please be patient with me. You see,” he said, “the law defines reasonable doubt as an abiding conviction in the truth of something. I can look at Ms. Donovon and have an abiding conviction in her beauty. I can see that for myself. All of us can. I can work with her and have an abiding conviction in her intelligence and passion. I can hear that in every word she says. So can you. But despite these outward appearances, I can’t have an abiding conviction in her conclusions, because those conclusions, just like everything else in this trial, have to be based on the evidence, and the evidence here just isn’t enough to convict Kyle.” Mays went on to criticize the credibility of the prosecution’s main witness, the burglar who had sold Kyle Winsor out, but Bryn barely heard him.

  She couldn’t believe the idiot had used her name during his argument the way he had. When he was finished, she was so angry she could barely pull herself together long enough to give a concise rebuttal argument. But she did. By the time the jury had been escorted to its deliberation room and it was just Vance and the two of them in court, Bryn was ready to attack.

  “Are you insane?” she snapped, striding up to him and poking him in the chest. “How dare you pull a stunt like that?”

  Daniel held up his hands as if to ward her off. “Come on, now, Bryn, I was just making a point. A valid one.”

  Bryn could barely respond. She actually sputtered for a few seconds, resulting in Daniel having to suppress a smile.

  Bryn narrowed her eyes and leaned toward him. Without thinking, she reached out and stabbed the middle of his collarbone with her index finger. She ran her finger down his burgundy tie and felt his chest, then his abdomen muscles, tighten. She stopped her finger at the band of his trousers a split second before he grabbed her wrist. With sugared hostility, she dug her nail into his hard abdomen and said, “The next time you decide to make a point by referring to my looks, counselor, I will put you and your homespun Southern mannerisms through the shredder. Do I make my point clear?”