Justice (Counsel #2)

by Shenda Paul

  "Well, there's certainly room for you to expand your families," she answers with an impish and decidedly hopeful smile.

  "Mom!" Angelique admonishes, her cheeks blazing.

  "I certainly hope so," I counter, and, almost impossibly, Angelique’s blush deepens. Grace giggles in amusement, reminding me once again of how alike they are. Angelique hurriedly ushers her mother away, no doubt to prevent further embarrassment.

  Later, when Angelique’s bustling around in the kitchen, I join Grace at the large window, from which I’m sure she hoped to gain a glimpse of her intended home. "The ground’s too uneven to navigate in your chair, but Matt and I will get you down there tomorrow," I promise.

  "Your gift is extremely generous, Adam. I can understand you wanting Angelique to have something of her own, but I still don't quite know what to think of your offer to me. You two are just starting your life together, and I don't wish to impose on you."

  "Angelique misses you dreadfully, and I know you miss her. She needs you, Grace, and I want you living close, so it's no imposition whatsoever. In addition to making us both happy, having your own home would give you independence you don't have now. Angelique and I only had a very brief discussion about what you’re currently paying, but I feel confident that even with the cost of two carers, it would be less expensive than it is now or would be at a Boston facility."

  "I just don’t know," she says, but I can tell my words have resonated.

  "It’s your and Angelique’s decision, but you both need to stop thinking that I'm making a sacrifice; I'm not. In fact, I'm being incredibly selfish."

  Her eyes glisten with tears, and I kneel to hold both of her hands. "Angelique and I want you home with us; don't let pride stand in your way. Besides, Rory would have approved of you settling in Boston," I add with an encouraging smile.

  "You don't fight fair." She gives me a watery smile.

  "Your daughter’s already accused me of that; but when it comes to her happiness, I'm afraid I'd do almost anything."

  The next afternoon, our family gathers in the dilapidated old building intended for Grace’s home to listen to Dad explain his plans. "This is where your bedroom and an en suite bathroom will be," he tells Grace while pacing out the area.

  "Internal entrances will have electronically controlled pocket doors, and the bathroom, of course, is designed for easy wheelchair access and mobility. Your bedroom will overlook a private courtyard.

  "This, here, will be a wall of electronically controlled glass doors, leading straight onto the patio. You’ll be able to move outside and back in whenever you wish."

  "Over here," he says raising his voice as he moves into the interior of the building, "is where the living area will be; the kitchen is over there. The entire space will be open-plan, making it easy to navigate, and as you can see, the area overlooks the central garden. I’ve planned two small suites, one for each of your carers to use when they sleep over. Each will have a bedroom, bathroom, and a sitting room. Just beyond that, I’ve included a double guest room with an en suite bathroom," he finishes proudly.

  Grace’s home, as Dad and I had agreed, will be spacious and open with touches of luxury, unlike the somewhat sanitized accommodation she's endured since her accident. He also consulted with the director of the local care facility to ensure it meets her practical needs. He and I, subsequently, agreed that I should pay for the materials, fixtures and fittings, and special equipment because, in my view, Dad and Mom have been more than generous in gifting us the construction work—a point I convinced him of when he protested.

  Last night, after Sharon and Theo returned for Grace, Angelique and I discussed the property at length. She finally realized the financial advantages in converting it into a home for her mother. Any lingering doubts were dispelled when I related the conversation I’d had with Grace, during which she’d lamented the reversal in her and Angelique’s roles. "It will give her back much of the self-esteem the accident robbed her of," I said. Angelique cried when she realized just how much her incapacity had cost her mother’s pride and promised to have a serious discussion with Grace about relocating to Boston in the morning.

  I then revealed that I'd be able to spend the next two days with them if she wished me to. She rewarded me by making sweet love to me. We fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, and true to her word, she left immediately after breakfast for the promised meeting with Grace. They arrived home tearfully happy to inform me that they’d love to accept our gift.

  My family turned up some time later, and Matt and I carried Grace, still ensconced in her wheelchair, to visit the site of her new home. She blushed nearly as deeply as Angelique and thanked us when we carefully placed her back down.

  "You're as light as a feather," Matt responded, making nothing of it.

  "You'll be able to navigate yourself once the paths are in," I promised.

  Now, though, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that after listening to Dad, both Grace and Angelique are feeling overwhelmed. I call a halt to the presentation with the reminder that Brett, our landscaper, is due to arrive at any minute. So, while Mom serves the rest of our family coffee and cake, Brett, Angelique, and I wander the lot to discuss his plans.

  "Paths need to be wide enough for two people to walk either side of a wheelchair. And, please avoid any steep inclines because I want my mother-in-law to be able to navigate as much of the communal and my and Angelique’s garden as possible," I advise him when we’ve discussed his overall design. Angelique squeezes my arm at the mention of my mother-in-law. I smile, letting her know I'm as excited as she is to make it a reality.

  "I’m not keen to have a ramp at the front of the gazebo, but we could have one at the back," Brett suggests when I point out that we need one.

  "That sounds perfect," Angelique agrees, and the matter is resolved.

  "I want the garden to look good immediately, Brett, so I'd like you to use mature trees and plants throughout," I add.

  "That would increase the cost considerably," he warns.

  "I understand. Just let me know what it is."

  "Fine, Mr. Thorne, I'll get the revised costs to you in the next day or two."

  "Good, and please call me Adam. My sister and brother-in-law will be in touch about their plans shortly. How soon can you start work here?"

  "With your approval, I could have workmen on site at the beginning of next week," he says, to my immense satisfaction.

  "Excellent! You have my go ahead. Just let me know the variation in cost as soon as you can."

  "Darling, is there anything you'd like to add or want changed?" I ask Angelique.

  "No, everything sounds fantastic. I especially love that the gazebo will be the focal point. It reminds me of the temple at Larz Anderson," she says, her cheeks coloring prettily.

  "I’m glad you like it; that’s exactly what I hoped for," I answer, feeling immensely satisfied.

  We return indoors to find that Mom’s invited Grace and Sharon on a tour of the waterfront and then home for dinner. They accepted, and so everyone leaves soon after.

  "What would you like to do?" I ask Angelique.

  "I need to get some clothes from my place. In fact, I should probably go home sometime soon now that Dieter’s locked up."

  "I don't want you to; this is your home now," I protest.

  "I love being here with you, and it will be my home one day, but I can't just leave my apartment like that, Adam."

  "What's stopping you from moving in here now?" I pull her onto my lap. "I want to talk to you about our wedding anyway—when would you like to get married?"

  "I haven't thought about a date. I was waiting to discuss it with you."

  "Well, let's do so now. Do you want a long engagement?"

  "Not really. Do you?"

  "Definitely not! I'd marry you tomorrow if I had my way, but I know you probably want a big wedding."

&nbs
p; "No, I don't," she says, leaning back to look at me.

  "Don't all women? Cait professed to wanting a small wedding and then invited seventy people."

  "I don't know that many people. Do you?" Angelique looks almost panicked.

  "No; certainly not well enough to want them at our wedding."

  "I just want a memorable ceremony with our family and closest friends—and with what I've…"

  I cut her off. "Angelique, if you're about to say what I think you are; don't. Don't mention or even think about your past in relation to our wedding or our life together. I'm glad you don't want a big wedding, and I’m impatient to start married life with you, but I'm six years older than you."

  "Adam, I don't want to wait," she says, cupping my cheek.

  "How about on your birthday?"

  "That's less than two months away!" Angelique exclaims, and I give her what I hope is my most persuasive smile.

  "You said not big. We could have it right here in the garden—the weather will still be good then."

  "Adam Thorne! Did you have this in mind when you practically coerced poor Brett into starting work?" she asks, pursing her lips in mock disapproval.

  "I may have been hoping," I say, leaning in to slowly run my tongue over her seductive bottom lip.

  "You're incorrigible," she whispers through a stuttering breath.

  "Only when it comes to making you mine," I answer.

  "I'm already yours," Angelique says.

  "Show me," I demand, deepening our kiss.

  .

  .

  Angelique’s hair looks like a dark, billowing cloud against the white pillow. Her face, resting on her forearm, is turned away; all I see is the gentle curve of her cheek and the dark sweep of her incredibly long lashes.

  I approach unnoticed and lift her foot to nip at her little toe. She lets out a little squeak and tries to squirm away, but I tighten my hold and bite down, causing her to giggle. She raises her delectable ass into the air in her struggle to free herself.

  "Are you taunting me with your irresistible derriere, Miss Bain?" I tease.

  "I don't know, am I?" she counters cheekily, looking at me over her shoulder.

  "You certainly are, and I think you should be punished for it," I promise darkly as I lower her leg to slide my body over hers.

  "Do you know what I want to do every time you waggle those lovely cheeks at me?"

  "No?" She stifles another giggle.

  "This," I say; and without warning, bite into her silky-soft skin.

  "Adam!" she yelps, again lifting her behind. I grasp her hips and moving my torso between her legs, run my tongue over the lips of her naked sex. She emits a low, sensuous moan, and I repeat my action, lowering her onto the bed as I do. Angelique kneels instinctively, and I grasp a pillow to place under her hips. I part her thighs to better access her sweet lips and then, using my fingers and tongue, I drive her wild.

  "Adam, please…" she cries out.

  "Soon…" I promise, moving to kiss my way up the length of her body. The sight of me leaking moisture onto her skin arouses me even more. I nibble on her earlobe, making Angelique whimper before placing a kiss behind her ear. "I love you," I tell her. She whispers that she loves me too.

  "Are you okay with this?" I ask as I continue to stroke her sex. She emits a breathless, "yes," as I insert first one, and then a second finger. Angelique writhes, her sounds of pleasure so arousing, I can no longer resist.

  I run the tip of my turgid cock through her incredibly soft folds, teasing us both until I feel as frantic as she sounds. "Fuck!" I gasp hoarsely as her tight heat envelops me. "So, good, Darling…so good," I groan, watching myself enter and re-enter her body. She moans deliciously as I move in deep, slow strokes. I lace our fingers and then, raising our joined hands above her head, lose myself to the incredible sensation building within me.

  Angelique matches my rhythm, meets my every thrust. Heat permeates my extremities, building, building, until the fire concentrates in my core before rushing to my groin. She pants my name, and I let out a strangled expletive as the almost unbearable pleasure threatens to overwhelm me. I force myself to slow and then withdraw.

  "Turn over; I need to see you," I say, my voice husky with desire. And then, removing the pillow from beneath her, I claim Angelique’s body once more.

  "Look at me," I demand, and long eyelashes lift to reveal eyes, dark with love and filled with passion.

  "Only you make me feel this way..." I tell her, gasping as her internal walls flutter and then tighten around me. I raise myself onto one arm and dipping my fingers into our combined wetness, I rhythmically stroke her clitoris. Angelique moans deeply, her body tensing, stilling as she falls over the edge. My movements become erratic, and then, gasping her name, I follow her into climax.

  "I love you," I whisper when she’s nestled in my arms, and then lifting her hand wearing my ring, I kiss it. "August the ninth or sixteenth?"

  "What?" she questions me dreamily.

  "Your birthday is August the fourteenth, a Thursday, so we'll have to get married on either the ninth or the sixteenth. Saturday would better suit the majority of our guests, don't you agree?"

  "Either day is fine," she murmurs.

  "August the ninth then; now everyone has a date to work toward."

  We spend the next while quietly discussing wedding plans, and I finally raise my idea for Grace to move into the Boston facility while renovations on her home are underway. Angelique mentions that Sharon expressed interest in moving to Boston as one of Grace’s carers.

  "Don't you see how perfect that would be?" I ask excitedly. "She could take over the lease on your apartment."

  "I bet you had this planned all along," she challenges with a smile in her voice.

  "Everything except for Sharon moving into your apartment," I confess, pulling her in for a kiss. Angelique’s stomach grumbles then, making her blush.

  "I've kept you in bed all afternoon without feeding you. Some husband I'll turn out to be," I say to ease her embarrassment.

  "You'll be the very best husband, and I don't remember complaining about being in bed." Her face heats again at the admission.

  "I hope you never stop doing that," I stroke her cheek lovingly. "It's only just gone six-thirty, would you like to go out?"

  "Mmm, that would be lovely."

  "Why don't you have a shower while I arrange it."

  Angelique emerges from the bathroom forty minutes later. "I decided to wash my hair, it was rather a mess," she apologizes when she sees me dressed and waiting.

  "Don’t worry about it, I used the guest bathroom; but I did rather like your well-loved look," I smile wickedly, knowing that she'll blush.

  She doesn't disappoint—she does, however, try to brazen it out. "Well, I like your bed-hair too."

  "You're too cute when you try to be sassy," I respond and kiss her nose lightly. " Get dressed, Darling; I've made a reservation at Mistral for eight."

  .

  .

  "What do you feel like," I ask Angelique as we pore over our menus.

  Getting no response, I glance up to find her looking alarmed and staring over my shoulder. I turn hurriedly and look straight into Justin's eyes. They narrow before he turns his attention back to Angelique. Cynthia, watching him intently, appears visibly upset and places her hand on his forearm. It takes a long moment before he looks at her.

  "Do you want to leave?" I ask Angelique, ignoring their obvious, heated exchange.

  She cups my cheek in her palm. "No, Adam. I'm here with you. No one else matters," she says, to my immense relief.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Why the hell can't people just mind their own damned business!" I exclaim, exasperated, as we view yet another intrusive newspaper article.

  Two photographs, which I assume were taken by a fellow diner, are featured side by side. A
headline, Spot The Happy Couple, straddles them. On the left, is one of Angelique and me. I’m kissing her hand, something I can't seem to stop doing since our engagement. The second is of Justin and Cynthia. He looks morose, eyes averted, while she leans forward, a pained and distinctly unhappy frown mars her face.

  Two of Boston's most eligible bachelors were out dining with their love interests on Tuesday night. While no engagement ring was spotted on the hand of Cynthia Buchanan, referred to as Senator Wade's fiancée during his trial, witnesses reported the presence of a prominent ring on the left hand of Angelique Bain, who dined with Assistant District Attorney Adam Thorne.

  Mr. Thorne, only weeks ago, confirmed their romantic involvement, but it appears the relationship is much more serious than we’d been led to believe. The couple was, reportedly, oblivious to the presence of fellow diners, a state seemingly common to these two when out in public.

  "He couldn't take his eyes off her—he’s obviously very much in love," a witness reported. The same person claimed that, by contrast, the senator appeared surly and inattentive toward his companion. "I felt sorry and embarrassed for Cynthia Buchanan; the senator kept looking at Angelique Bain," she remarked.

  "I feel sad for her, and I wish for everyone’s sake that this hadn’t happened," Angelique murmurs.

  "So do I," I agree, folding and then casting the paper aside. I mean it; I do wish we could all just move on with our lives, Justin and Cynthia too, as much as I detest the pair. Thankfully, it will only be a matter of time before someone else captures the media’s attention. Even more encouraging is the fact that the article hadn’t once referred to Angelique’s past.

  "I have to leave, Darling," I apologize, after glancing at my watch.

  "I’ll see you off, and then I should get done too—I promised Mom we’d go sightseeing today."

  At the door, I pull her into my arms for a goodbye kiss. "Have a lovely day with Grace; I love you," I tell her and leave for work with her reciprocated words ringing in my ears.

  Later that day, Matt calls to invite Angelique and me to join Cait and him, and the rest of the gang at the pub. "We should celebrate our pregnancy and your engagement," he says.