Dirty Rich One Night Stand: a sexy standalone novel

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “A secretary knows the boss’s secrets,” Blake says. “I can’t tell you how many times a secretary busted open a case for me.”

  “And women share dirty secrets more readily with another woman,” Kara adds.

  I’m reminded of Cat’s history. Her ex fucked his secretary while he was with her. The secretary definitely knows a man’s secrets. “Do it,” I say, “but do it quickly. I’ll push Kelli’s testimony to Tuesday, but I can’t push it any further.”

  “We’ll go see her today,” Kara says. “After we sleep a few hours.”

  Blake turns toward my apartment, and I think of Cat in her bed, instead of mine. “Take me to Cat’s building.” I give him the address.

  “So you two are really a thing, then, huh?” Blake asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “We are most definitely a thing.”

  Kara turns and smiles at me. “A man who knows what he wants and is going after it,” she says. “Are you sure you don’t have Walker blood in you?”

  I don’t comment, and she doesn’t expect me to. She turns and faces forward while I silently agree with her. I am a man who knows what I want, and that’s Cat. And I’m going to make sure she knows. For the remainder of the drive, I switch back and forth between trial details and Cat, finding my desire to talk through everything that happened on this trip with her. That’s a first for me. But not only does she want to help, she actually does.

  By the time Blake drops me at Cat’s place, it’s nearly eight. My brilliant plan to talk my way past the security desk and surprise Cat doesn’t go as planned. “Call her,” I tell the guard, a man with gray hair, wearing a blue jacket and a big attitude. “Tell her I’m here. The name is—”

  “Reese Summer,” he says, disdain in his voice. “I know. We all know who you are.”

  The man defending a baby killer, I think. That assumption after what I’ve just dealt with irritates the fuck out of me. “Don’t spread that around or Cat will end up with reporters chasing her and you’ll get to handle the gaggle of people that will appear in your lobby. And I’ll make sure the right people know who made that happen, which would be you.”

  “I don’t run my mouth, sir, or I wouldn’t have a job.”

  “Call Cat,” I order.

  His lips press together, as if he’s biting back a retort, but he dials Cat’s apartment and I’m given immediate clearance. I walk to the elevator, tension radiating throughout my body. I’m ready for the fucking hellish trial to be over; that seed of doubt about Nelson’s guilt eating me alive. He can’t be guilty or I can no longer trust my instincts. I ride the elevator to the fifteenth floor and I swear, just knowing I have a bed with Cat in it waiting on me punches back some of that edginess the guard has stirred in me, right along with the weariness of no sleep. Once I’m at her door, I knock with impatient insistence. I need to see her, to hold her naked body in my arms. It’s irrational. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt with a woman, but it’s real. It’s now and I want the walls between me and this woman gone, literally and figuratively.

  She opens the door, looking adorable in pink pajamas, with her blonde hair in disarray. “You should be sleeping,” she says. “Why are you not in bed?”

  I’m already hot and hard from just seeing her, but the minute I hear her voice, as insane as it sounds, I’m over the edge. I want to feel her close, her breasts in my hands, and my cock buried inside her. And damn, I want those soft moans she makes. I drop my bag, and step into her, hands on her waist as I walk her into the foyer of her apartment and kick the door shut. “I told you I was going to need to fuck when I got back. And I do.” I tangle my fingers in her hair. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Only the part where you want to but haven’t yet.”

  I kiss her, my mouth closing down on hers, my tongue pressing past her teeth, stroking her until she rewards me with one of those moans I craved every minute I was apart from her. That sound undoes me all over again, and nothing undoes me but this woman. I’m suddenly so damn ravenous for Cat that nothing else exists but one goal: More of this woman. I deepen the kiss, drinking her in, demanding everything she holds back. I undress her in between kisses, touching her everywhere I can touch her in the process, and it’s not even close to enough.

  “Damn it, woman, you are making me crazy,” I murmur, this hunger inside me for Cat damn near painful. I press her against the wall, my fingers sliding between her legs, stroking the wet heat of her sex.

  She pants and I swallow the sound, licking into her mouth, the hint of toothpaste in her mouth ridiculously sexy. She tugs at my shirt and I pull it over my head. By the time I’ve tossed it away, she’s dealt with my zipper and is closing her hand around my cock. Fuck. I need to fuck. I lift her leg, and between the two of us, my cock presses inside her. I cup her sweet little ass, and her legs wrap my waist. I thrust into her and pull her down on top of me. She clings to my shoulders, and I wrap my arms around her waist.

  “I have you, Cat,” I say, and those green eyes of hers meet mine, and I know the minute she understands: I want her trust. She nods as if I’ve asked for it with words, and she leans backward, taking more of me, rising to me as I thrust into her, her beautiful breasts swaying between us. She watches me, too, like I am her, and that connection between us is there, burning a path between us. We are moving again, her driving down against me, me thrusting into each push she delivers. I’m on edge, almost there, when she suddenly leans forward, burying her face in my neck, and I can feel her fighting what comes next. But I don’t let her.

  “Come for me, sweetheart,” I murmur. “Give me what I want.”

  And what I want is to feel her clenching me, trembling in my arms, and that is exactly what happens. She tumbles into orgasm and I drive into her until I’m going there, too. I thrust one last time and nothing else exists. There is just me, her, and the quake of our bodies.

  I come back to reality with my legs burning, and the two of us holding on to one another, breathing together. Somehow, my pants are still in place. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “The door right next to us,” she says.

  I walk us in there and set her on the white and red checked vanity, slipping her a towel to clean up. I quickly return to the hallway and bring her my shirt. She tosses the towel, and I help her with my shirt before pressing my hands to the counter on either side of her. “Good morning.”

  She blushes a pretty pink. “Good morning.” She touches my face. “I can’t believe you came here.”

  “I can’t believe you thought I’d go any other place, Cat. Take me to your bed.”

  “You need to be in your own house and your own bed. Tomorrow is court. You need the familiar.”

  “Come home with me.”

  “You need to sleep. We won’t sleep.”

  “Sweetheart, we just fucked. I can sleep a few hours, I promise you.”

  “Is that the way to put you to sleep?”

  “Every night,” I say. “Are you up for the challenge?”

  She laughs. “I think you’re trying to fuck me out of your system.”

  It’s a joke, but there’s a serious undertone. “Here’s what I say to you on that, Cat. I can, you should let me, and I should let you do the same. And then when we fail, we’ll talk about what comes next. Deal?”

  “Yes. Deal.”

  “Good.” I pick her up and set her on the floor. “Take me to your bed, and later I’ll take you to mine.”

  “It’s time for bed,” I say. “To sleep.” I grab Reese’s arm, pulling him out of the bathroom off my foyer.

  “I’m not going to argue,” he says. “I’m officially done for a few hours.”

  I slide my palm down his arm, my fingers lacing with his, the first time I’ve ever held his hand, not the opposite, and when I look at him, the warmth in his eyes tells me he knows this, too. My cheeks warm like his eyes, which is silly, because I’ve done all kinds of naked things with this man. I cut my gaze, my throat thick with just how connected I feel
with this man. How emotionally exposed I am with him. I am so very naked with this man in every possible way, and now he’s about to sleep in my bed, with me, by my side.

  We cross through my living room, which is decorated in navy blue and grays, the navy of my curtains a shade darker than his gorgeous blue eyes. I guide Reese inside the doorway just off that room, and he stops inside the entrance, scanning the gray and pink décor. Lots of pink, actually, a color choice I made after I left my law career and Mitch behind, a kind of kiss off to everyone I felt had masculated me in my life. I can be more than flat and one-dimensional, and with my writing, I in fact, must embrace variety to be interesting.

  Reese walks straight for my bed with the puffy pink comforter and pink pillows, his exhaustion showing in how quickly he strips off his shoes and pants before slipping under the covers. I join him, and he pulls me under his arm, onto his chest, and that’s when he murmurs, “Pink suits you, Cat,” his voice laden with grogginess, and when I glance up at him, his eyes are shut.

  Warmth fills me all over again as I consider that statement, which means more to me than he realizes. Pink is poison to my father. Weakness. A tool a man would use to classify me as woman, not an equal. Reese is my first, in every way. I could love this man and that terrifies me, but it’s not a feeling you can walk away from. It’s a feeling that consumes and seduces, a drug you can’t get enough of, like this man. I can’t get enough of him.

  I smile and shut my eyes, letting the earthy, rich scent of Reese consume me as my body relaxes into his, the heaviness of sleep reclaiming me.

  Reese and I sleep for four hours. We wake to the buzzing of my cellphone as Liz texts me and wants to talk. “Important?” Reese asks.

  “No,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”

  He doesn’t argue. He’s out again in a minute, and I snuggle closer to him and do the same. We finally get out of bed at two o’clock, shower together, and dress. Reese dresses in the clothes I picked out for him, including jeans, a black T-shirt, and the blue underwear he points out, since they were my favorite, though I really couldn’t care less about the color. They’re on him. That’s what counts. I myself decide on the New Yorker look of all black, including my jeans, my knee-high boots, and a sweater, considering a cold front has officially arrived, per the weather app on my phone.

  I’ve just finished flatironing my hair when Reese appears and leans on the counter next to me, his thick, dark hair still damp, his blue eyes bright and focused on me. “Stay with me for the rest of the trial.”

  Stay with him, at his apartment, for the rest of the trial. It’s almost like living with him. My first instinct should be caution, but I don’t seem to have any left with this man. In my mind, I know that I should slow things down. We’re moving fast, but the truth is, I don’t want to slow down. “Yes,” I say. “I’d like that.”

  Approval fills his expression. He’s pleased with my answer. I like this reaction. I like that I never feel like I am in a power play with this man. We are simply together in what is such unfamiliar territory for me, and I can only navigate it by acceptance. “That was easier than I expected,” he comments.

  My lips quirk. “How can we fuck this out of our system if I’m not with you?”

  “Indeed,” he says, his expression amused. “I do think we’ll both enjoy that process, but Cat,” his voice softens, “I’ve never met a challenge I wanted to fail, until now.”

  A knot of emotion fills my chest. “I’m okay if you fail this one, too, but, of course, you should see the challenge through.”

  “Of course,” he says, smiling, and he has such a devastatingly sexy smile. “Of course. That will take energy for us both. We need to power up. Do you want me to run and grab us food while you pack?”

  “Oh, I have an idea. Kind of a ritual. If you like waffles and omelets, there’s a place I order from that has the best Sunday brunch. The menu is on the fridge. They deliver, and you can tell them Cat’s usual and then whatever you want.”

  He leans down and kisses me. “The usual. Got it. I’ll wait on you by the coffee pot.”

  He disappears, and I sigh, the spicy, sometimes borderline earthy, but always wonderful scent of him lingering in the air. I did good when I packed his cologne. He smells so good. He always smells good, and that will never get old. I stand up and pack a bag, enough for a few days, at least. Once I’m done, I set my bag in the living room, just outside the bedroom, and carry my MacBook with me.

  I find him at my island kitchen, his computer in front of him, coffee beside him, his hair almost dry, a wave to the thick, untamed strands that is almost curly. “Twenty minutes for delivery,” he says. “The menu looked good.”

  “It’s so good,” I promise, setting my computer down, as well as my phone, before making coffee. “I save calories for Sundays just to pig out on brunch.” I rejoin him, claiming the high-backed barstool directly across from him. “Anything from Walker Security?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you still putting Kelli on the stand tomorrow as a follow-up to the boyfriend?”

  “As much as I want that back-to-back presentation of additional suspects, I’m going to hold off. I told Blake he could have time to get me evidence. I actually told him he could only have two days, but I’m rethinking the timeline.”

  “What are the factors you’re considering?”

  “Now that I’ve convinced the Walker team to come on board, we might actually find a bombshell I can use. I’m going to save her for the last bombshell testimony, but I dislike placing distance between her testimony and the boyfriend’s.”

  “I know you said that you wanted to wrap this up this week. Is that still going to happen? And why were you winding it down that quickly?”

  “My initial decision was made when it became obvious that the prosecution was going to rest their case quickly.”

  “Which told you what?” I ask.

  “That they were hiding from a weak case and didn’t want to risk me tearing it down. That’s when I decided that short and efficient is the way to go with my presentation. I can’t give Dan a chance to make the prosecution look good.”

  “If I were the prosecutor and the judge told the defense they had to get a confession to avoid a dismissal in a case I was prosecuting, that would add fire to that strategy. I’d try to speed things up and keep that ruling in the jury’s minds. And I’d do that simply because at least some of those jurors will take that as the judge’s assumption of guilt.”

  “Good point,” he says. “And if I’m right about my assessment, Dan the man already needs me to be speedy to avoid highlighting his weak-ass case. The man didn’t even call the investigative officers. He knows they have no evidence to present. I don’t think he’s going to hold things up.”

  “But maybe you need to slow things down, Reese. Dilute the judge’s ruling.”

  “If I dilute that ruling, I dilute how pathetic the prosecutor’s case is.”

  “Not if you grind the right points to death. Even consider recalling some of their witnesses to refresh the jury’s minds.”

  “Maybe. I need to think about this.”

  My phone rings, and I grab it. “The security desk,” I tell Reese before I answer. “Yes. Please. Send them up.” I end the call and refocus on Reese, going right back to our conversation. “I’m surprised they didn’t drag everyone who knows Nelson Ward to the stand and try to paint some nasty character profile.”

  “Nelson is beloved by everyone,” Reese says. “That’s one of the reasons I was willing to take this case. That and the fact that the baby wasn’t his and there is no DNA evidence. And I believe he’s innocent.”

  “Even after last night?”

  “Yes. His wife was behind that, and he needed her back here to testify.”

  “He should have called you,” I say. “And taken your calls.”

  “Agreed. And I threatened to scale back my defense to the basic requirements, and definitely not aggressive. But I still believe in him.�
��

  “Okay, then back to buying time. You could call on the list of character witnesses.”

  “Each of which could suddenly present me with a problem,” he counters. “I keep every trial simple for a reason. I don’t create new problems while trying to solve another. Hell, I could spend weeks and maybe even months building his character, but I go back to the two key points: Every witness is a potential backfire, and I dilute the weakness of the prosecutors’ presentation.”

  “What about putting Nelson on the stand?”

  “You said it yourself. No one likes a rich, successful, good-looking man who has everything they don’t have. I think it’s risky.”

  “But you say he’s loved by all.”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Okay,” I concede. “It’s risky. Are you still calling the investigative officers tomorrow?” I ask, remembering his list from our work session yesterday.

  “Yes. That plan hasn’t changed. Dan isn’t going to avoid that hit. And they will be.”

  “You’re sure they have nothing to offer to hurt you?”

  “I have their written statements. If they deviate, they look like liars.”

  A knock sounds on the door, and Reese stands up. “I’ll grab the food.”

  I nod and grab a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, and a few minutes later, we are both pigging out on waffles and eggs. “Set aside the case for a while,” Reese says. “Any regrets over the agent firing this morning?”

  “None. Though she was the one who texted me while we were asleep. She wants to talk.”

  “Are you going to talk to her?”

  “I’ll talk to her, but I’m not rehiring her. I’ll start looking for a new one to deal with my option when the trial is over.”

  “How do options work?”

  “I signed a contract and they optioned my next true crime novel. They get first right of refusal. But I know the terms. I’m not legally obligated to accept the deal with Dan. I am legally obligated to present a proposal for my own book, though they can decline, because I turned down the partnership with Dan. But that’s fine. Once they pass, and I get another agent, I can go to another publisher.”