by J. A. Coffey
"We can put her on a payment plan or garnish her wages."
"Um, she's a student," he lied. Jeez, what am I doing? Lying in a court of law? "She doesn't have access to those kinds of funds."
"Oh, well." Barracuda steepled her fingers. "She'll have to serve out her sentence in lockup then. Thirty days should do it."
Destiny shrieked beside him. He shot her a warning glance. He didn't need to get a charge for contempt of court.
"In fact," Barracuda consulted her paperwork again, "a few months in jail might do her good. As far as I can tell, she only has a temporary address on file. A local shelter. At least here she'll get three hots and a cot.
"Judge," he pled, "she deserves a chance. Give her community service or probation, if you have to. She's smart. She has a bright future ahead of her."
Her attempt at a smile came out as a grimace. "Your testimony moves me, Counselor. I'll grant probation."
"Thank you." Cayson breathed a sigh of relief. Underneath those scales Barracuda had a heart after all.
"Under one condition. I'm remanding the defendant to your custody, Mr. Sullivan. For three months, you'll assume responsibility for her."
What the fu-?
"Your Honor, may I approach the bench?" Cayson didn't wait for permission. Within seconds he stood before the raised platform. He covered the microphone with his hand. To hell with the preamble. He got straight to the point. "Look Gracie, I realize you may still be pissed at me, but don't let your feelings toward me cloud your ability to give my client justice."
If hostility were a weapon, he'd be dead. Barracuda's grey eyes flashed, but she kept the complacent smile in place. "You think I'm harboring a grudge against you for fucking my brains out five years ago? For avoiding me for weeks and refusing to take my calls? For treating me as though I had a contagious disease? You flatter yourself, Counselor. You're still as arrogant as ever, thinking the world revolves around you."
He refused to participate in an argument he'd never win. For years, he'd succeeded in avoiding Gracie's courtroom. Her need for vengeance had not cooled in all that time. The only thing that had saved his ass from her spiteful bite was that the partners at JADE did not get along with her.
"My client is a poor, defenseless woman who doesn't deserve to be dragged into the middle of this."
"Do you accept the conditions of the probation or not?"
His nostrils flared as he expelled a deep breath. What the hell did this woman want from him? It wasn't like he could go back in time and do things differently. And he was not groveling for her or any female. He was sick of dodging cases to escape her ire. At that moment, the case became less about Destiny Jackson and more about showing the Barracuda that he could take whatever cruel and unusual penance she dished out.
"Okay," he blurted out. "I'll do it."
He strode back to the table, his hands balled into fists inside his pants pockets.
Barracuda's voice was laced with victory. "Let the record reflect that Mr. Sullivan has agreed to take custody of Miss Jackson for ninety days."
Destiny jumped as the loud smack of the gavel sounded. Cayson tried to ignore the shock on his client's face. "Did she just say what I think she said?"
"Yep," he confirmed with a confidence he didn't feel. "Your future is now in my hands, Miss Jackson."
Chapter Two
Lawyer-man had a sweet ride. It was nothing less than what she expected from a cutthroat attorney with expensive shoes. Destiny stroked the peanut butter colored leather of the Porsche Boxter. This was exactly the kind of car she wanted, but knew she could never afford. Maybe someday she would have it. She just needed the right opportunity to prove herself.
As she sat in the passenger side, a gentle wave of heat flowed from the vents and warmed her feet. She wiggled her toes in her boots. It was mid-April in St. Louis. Temps were mild during the day, but dropped below forty degrees at night. She silently thanked Cayson Sullivan for keeping things nice and toasty inside the car. She watched as his hands adjusted the buttons on the dashboard panel. He had long fingers with neatly trimmed nails. And no visible wedding ring. He'd probably never done a hard day's work in his life.
"I appreciate your help in there," she told him. "I wish I had money to pay you." The fear of being locked in a tiny cage gripped her heart like a vise.
"Don't worry about it. JADE pays my salary."
She pulled her coat tighter around her, and then waited for the sleek Porsche to stop at a traffic light a few blocks away from the courthouse. "You can let me out here," she told him.
She knew this area. She would make her way back to the shelter from here. Lately, she'd been crashing at Porter's house, but she could already see that wasn't going to work out. He'd started demanding privileges she wasn't ready for him to have. Tonight, her only other option was the shelter. She wasn't looking forward to spending another night in one of those claustrophobic rooms, but it was better than spending her time in jail.
"No." Cayson shook his head so violently a dark lock of hair fell onto his forehead. "You are my responsibility, remember?"
She laughed. "Don't tell me you believe all that shit the judge was saying?"
"Yes, I do. I've seen her levy some outrageous punishments in her court. She's very influential with powerful friends who have her back. I have a history with that woman, and trust me, she is not bullshitting."
"What kind of history?"
"One that I don't care to discuss."
"Y'all must have hit the sheets or somethin'."
"That's none of your concern. All you need to know is that Judge Burroughs means business."
"Well, excuse me, Mr. Big Time Lawyer. If you're all that, why didn't the judge listen to what you had to say?"
"Like I said, we have history. My neck is on the line. I said I'd keep watch over you and I am. So, like it or not, you're stuck with me."
She watched as he accelerated, put on his blinker, and made a perfect right turn to merge onto the freeway. Something told her he had every intention of honoring the deal he'd made in court. Damn! She wouldn't be able to shake him for ninety days. "So, where do you plan on taking me?" she demanded.
"Um...To my house." He said it like he hadn't given it much thought.
She turned in her seat and faced him fully. "Are you out of your damn mind?"
He glanced in the rearview mirror before switching lanes. "Not the last time I checked."
"Look, I'm grateful to you for getting me out of a jam, but I don't know you! I can't stay at some strange dude's house."
He kept his eyes on the road, seemingly unperturbed by her concerns. "I don't know you either. But this is only for tonight until I can come up with a better plan. Would you rather take a chance on a respectable attorney or would you rather share a cell with a Big Bertha-type, who would appreciate some fresh meat?"
Crude son-of-a-bitch! But he was right. She shivered thinking about having to defend herself from any type of unwanted advances. She'd spent most of her teenage years in foster-care. Thank God, no one had abused her; she knew other kids who hadn't been so lucky.
"What about La'Treece?" she probed.
"Who?"
"My friend. The woman who asked for your help."
"Oh yes." His full lips flipped into a frown. "The one who looked like a streetwalker." Destiny gasped, but he ignored her. "She is not my responsibility," he reiterated. "You are. I can be held in contempt of court for disobeying a judge's orders-no matter how crazy the judge happens to be."
"Well, I need to call La'Treece and let her know I'm okay. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have you for a lawyer."
"Yeah, remind me to thank her later."
She threw him the mean glare she used to ward off would-be predators at the shelter, but he was focused on driving, so he totally missed it. "If that's supposed to be your attempt at sarcasm, it ain't appreciated, Mr. Sullivan."
He finally sighed and glanced her way. "If we're going to be staying together, we may
as well be on a first name basis. You can call me Cayson."
She crossed her arms stubbornly. "I haven't decided if I like you yet. For now, you can still call me, Miss Jackson."
Twenty minutes later, Cayson pulled into a modest neighborhood with a thick canopy of trees lining the streets. His Cape Cod style house was large, but not over the top. In the dark, Destiny couldn't tell what color the hardy board was. If she had to guess, it was probably white. "I expected you to be chillin' in a mansion," she told him.
"Why?"
"'Cause you're a lawyer."
"Not all lawyers make gobs of money."
She opened the passenger door, gritting her teeth against the biting wind. "But you do. I can tell. You have nice shoes, a nice car. You seem to like the finer things in life. Why you livin' here?"
He frowned as he removed his briefcase from the trunk. "I happen to like this neighborhood. It's safe and my parents live around the corner."
"Let me guess. A Mama's boy?"
She could have sworn she saw his jaw clench before he inserted his key in the lock to the front door. She smiled, happy to get under his skin for a minute. He was so calm and poised, like nothing ever ruffled his feathers. If he thought she was some charity case who was gonna be constantly thanking him for being her savior, he had another thing coming.
Her mouth dropped when she stepped inside his house. She was right: He did like nice things. Her eyes flitted over the crystal chandelier hanging in the entryway. Polished, dark hardwood floors stretched as far as she could see. White leather furniture and glass tables accented with chrome looked far too pretty to be practical. African tribal masks and Native American paintings adorned the walls. Sculptures made of wood and bone were placed on custom-made shelves that extended from the walls. Near the bay window of the living room, a white baby grand piano dominated the room. Lawyer-man had it goin' on!
"You must travel a lot," she guessed. She hadn't seen none of this shit in St. Louis, not even at the finest boutiques.
"Yes. Whenever I can."
Destiny sat at the piano and peered at a framed picture of an older couple embracing. The man was handsome with salt and pepper hair. The woman was smiling at him as if he were the only man in the world. Another picture contained a stunning black woman posed with an athletic-looking man who looked a hell of a lot like Cayson. "Who's this?" she asked.
"My parents, my brother, Mark and his wife, Kendra."
She picked up the frame, surprised by its heavy weight. "Kendra's pretty."
"Yes she is-inside and out." He plucked the picture out of her hand and placed it back on the piano top. "Let me show you around. You can choose where you want to sleep."
She stood and followed him. It seemed Cayson had a hang-up about people touching his stuff. If he thought he'd hurt her feelings, he had another thing coming. She was tougher than she looked. "How many bedrooms in this house?"
"Three."
"Why you need all them rooms? Anybody else living here?"
"You sure ask a lot of questions, Miss Jackson."
"That's the only way to learn. You stop asking questions, you stop learning."
He stood at the foot of the stairs quietly regarding her for a moment. His dark brown eyes looked her up and down. "How old are you?"
She pursed her lips. "Why? You plannin' something freaky?"
He laughed. "Just curious. Like you said, it's the only way to learn."
She grinned. "Twenty-four. Young enough to party. Old enough to know when to stop."
Cayson eyed his new charge. It was the first time she'd smiled since they'd met. But to be fair, she could make the same claim of him. As she stood, bathed in the soft glow of the downstairs hall light, he took in her features. She certainly didn't look like a criminal. Fake eyelashes. Tight jacket. Head full of cascading braids. Short skirt. Well, the skirt he didn't mind so much. It showed off her shapely legs and flawless mahogany skin. Her pumps, though way too high, perfectly accentuated her calves. Even through her rough exterior, he could see that Destiny Jackson was a pretty woman.
The thought unnerved him, and he abruptly turned and walked up the stairs. "Follow me, he barked."
What the hell was he thinking bringing a beautiful street urchin into his house? If only he hadn't been so hell-bent on trying to beat Gracie at her own game. Well, he'd made his bed. Now, he had to deal with the consequences of his arrogance.
He led her down the hall to the two guest bedrooms. Both rooms had queen-sized beds. Destiny wandered into the Asian-inspired room decorated in tan and black. Hand-made paintings of the orient added splashes of color to the walls. She took her shoes off and sank her toes into the plush rug near the bed. "Sweet!" she exclaimed.
He watched as she fell backwards across the bed, arms spread out, legs crossed. She made herself at home, stretched out on the bedspread. "I'll take this room."
He stared at the woman on the bed. Well, kid was more like it.
She's only five years your junior. Like she said, young enough to party and old enough to...do other things. Imagine those legs wrapped around you.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, hoping she wouldn't notice the bulge between his legs stirring to life.
Shit! What kind of dog am I? I'm supposed to be watching over her, not getting a woody!
Destiny jumped up, the muscles of her taut thighs flexing as she scooted to the bed's edge. Cayson's eyes were drawn to her firm flesh. He averted his gaze, but not in time for her to notice.
Her dark eyes narrowed. "I need to call La'Treece," she reminded him. "Where's your phone?"
He didn't think it was wise to take her down the hall to his bedroom to use the phone. When he took women to his bed, they never wanted to leave. "There's a phone in the study downstairs," he told her.
She brushed past him, and he followed her out of the room, watching the sway of her hips as she walked barefoot. Once again, he questioned the wisdom of what he was doing. He had to help Destiny Jackson find a place to live, quick. There was no way he could watch the rise and fall of that tempting ass without getting a hard-on each time. He shook his head. It was going to be a long three months.
Chapter Three
Cayson bit back the sting of heat as he sipped from a steaming cup of coffee. Too bad he couldn't taste the smooth Bavarian blend with a burned tongue! He stood at the sink of his kitchen pondering his situation. He'd been up all night wondering what to do about Destiny. He may have seemed cool as a cucumber yesterday when he talked to her, but he was nervous as hell about how to handle her. He desperately needed to find her a job, a place to live, and some clothes. That short skirt and biker jacket weren't going to land her any job interviews.
His first thought had been to call his mother. Then, he quickly banished that idea to the realm of all the other bad ideas he'd ever had in his life. His mother would ask too many questions. Irene Sullivan was a bloodhound when it came to finding information. So, during the wee hours of the morning, he'd ended up calling Phaedra, a co-worker at JADE. With her connections and her sense of style, Phaedra could set Destiny on the path to a new life.
He leaned against the granite countertop, fighting off a migraine. Thank God, today was Saturday. He was in no condition to go to work.
He nearly dropped his cup when Destiny shuffled into the kitchen wearing one of his old t-shirts. The oversized garment hung loose on her, hitting her mid-thigh and showing off her shapely legs. Her long braids were swept up and piled atop her head, exposing her high cheekbones.
Damn, she's a total babe!
She yawned wide enough for him to get a look at her tonsils. "Got a spare toothbrush?" she mumbled.
A total babe with the manners of a bear.
He stared at the swell of her lush breasts, where the material of the shirt was pulled so tight he could see the outline of her bra. Jesus, he was glad he couldn't see her nipples. That would have been his undoing. She had a strawberry body shape. Top-heavy with slender hips. He'd learned that
interesting bit of trivia from a fashion magazine editor he'd dated in college. He didn't understand why women's shapes were named after pieces of fruit. Instead of pear, apple, and banana, they should be named after peppers: hot, hotter, and hottest.
Destiny followed his gaze. "Hope you don't mind. I found this in one of the drawers in the room."
He'd almost forgotten about the extra shirts stored in the room where she'd slept. He cleared his throat and turned away. "That's fine." He had to find her some clothes soon. He would never be able to wear that t-shirt again without getting a boner.
He heard the loud rumble of her stomach. "Can I get a cup of that coffee?" she asked.
"Yeah," he set his cup down. "You must be starving. I can make breakfast."
"Coffee's fine for now." She moved past him. The faint smell of her natural scent tickled his nose.
"Well, if you get hungry, help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. I try to keep it stocked, but when I work late, I don't get to the grocery store as often as I should."
She drank from the fresh cup of coffee he offered her. "You live here all alone?"
"You asked me that yesterday."
"So, I'm asking again. Why does everything have to be a battle with you?"
"I'm not used to repeating myself."
Her eyes swept the length of his silk pajama bottoms. Normally, he walked around bare-chested, but he remembered to pull on a sleeveless t-shirt so he wouldn't offend his guest. "I like asking questions. You don't like repeating yourself. We make one hell of a team."
"If you follow my rules, we'll be fine."
"Oh, hell no!" She sat her coffee cup down and he knew she was about to read him the riot act.
Before she could attack, he took the offense. "Y'know, I'm getting used to the way your eyes narrow when something pisses you off. You're doing it now, although you look a lot prettier without those fake eyelashes you had on yesterday."
She glared. "I don't know if that was supposed to be a compliment or not."
"It was."
They continued staring at each other for a few seconds. The air crackled with enough energy to light Vegas for one night. Destiny was not only hot; she was a firecracker who didn't take shit from anyone, including her savior-attorney.