by Lisa Childs
Something she recognized now as love. She’d wondered before how she would be able to know for certain what someone else was feeling. She would never have to wonder with Simon. She could see the love in his eyes.
She lifted her arms, holding them out for him. But before he joined her, he shrugged off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Then he finished lowering his zipper and kicked off his shoes and the pants and his briefs. Finally, he was naked, too.
As naked as she was.
But he didn’t join her on the couch. He knelt on the floor beside her, like he was worshipping her body. And he made her feel that way, with his gentle touch. He glided his fingertips along her shoulder, down her arm to the curve of her hip. He traced her entire silhouette as if he was trying to memorize the shape of her.
“You are perfect,” he said.
She would have teased him for laying it on a little thick. But she saw in his eyes that he was sincere. To him, she was perfect.
Love for him overwhelming her, she reached out. She traced the line of his broad shoulders and the muscles in his arms and chest. Then she tried to move lower, to slide her mouth over his pulsating shaft and take him deep in her throat.
She was pulsating, too, her body quivering as the tension he’d built inside her became overwhelming. “Please, Simon,” she implored him. “I need you.”
“I need you, too,” he assured her.
But he didn’t hurry. He took his time. Lowering his head to hers, he kissed her gently, his lips just whispering across hers.
She gasped at the sensation, and he dipped his tongue inside her mouth. She suckled on it like she wanted to suck on him. And he groaned. Then his hands moved to her breasts, molding the flesh, teasing the nipples.
She whimpered as that need became unbearable. Tears of frustration stung her eyes. Then finally he touched her core, and she came apart.
It wasn’t enough, though. She needed him inside her.
Plastic crinkled as he tore open a condom packet. His hand shook as he rolled it on, then he lifted her onto his lap where he knelt on the floor beside the couch.
She locked her legs around his back as she bounced and rocked, sliding up and down his shaft. He teased her nipples, then he reached between them and rubbed his thumb over her mound, finding the most sensitive part of her.
She cried out as she came again.
And he stood, with her locked yet around his waist, with him buried deep inside her. And he arched his hips up, making love to her standing up. Until his legs began to shake.
Then finally he yelled her name and his body shuddered as he came, too. They collapsed onto the couch where they’d had sex for the first time. This time it hadn’t been just sex, though. They’d made love—because they had really fallen for each other.
She smiled, and he must have felt her cheek move against his chest from where she’d settled in his arms. He smiled, too.
“This feels so damn right,” he murmured.
“Yes, it does,” she agreed.
“You and me,” he said. “The fashion designer and the lawyer.”
They might not have been the likeliest combination. But she was certain they would make it work because they respected each other, respected how hard each other had worked to accomplish what they had. But what Simon had worked so hard to achieve was in jeopardy now.
“Do you have any idea who the mole really is?” she asked him.
The smile slid away from his mouth. “No.”
“You’ll figure it out,” she assured him. He was the smartest man she’d ever met. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
He tightened his arm around her shoulders, holding her more snugly against his chest. “This helps,” he assured her. “Just having you here.”
“In your office?” He didn’t actually expect her to come back, did he? She’d liked that he hadn’t wanted her to sacrifice her dreams for his.
As if he felt her tension, he stroked his hand down her back and assured her, “I told you that I want you to focus on your passion.”
She smiled.
“And you’re mine. That’s what I meant about having you here—in my arms.” He chuckled. “In my heart, too, Bette Monroe.”
“You’re in my heart, too,” she assured him because she knew how hard it was to be so vulnerable, how scary it was.
But Simon didn’t seem scared anymore. He seemed happy. “Loving you has put things in perspective for me,” he continued. “The practice isn’t everything to me anymore. You are.”
She sucked in a breath, surprised by just how vulnerable he’d made himself to her. He was so damn brave.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” he assured her. “I know your designs—working as hard as you have to get your own line—mean everything. And they should—”
“They mean more because of you,” she said. “They mean more because you understand and support me. While I haven’t always agreed with the way Street Legal has handled cases, I understand and support you, too.”
He grinned now. “And that’s everything.”
She had to agree that it was—whatever they had, it was so special, so unique. “And you’re everything to me,” she assured him.
He released a breath she hadn’t realized he’d been holding. As if he’d needed that assurance from her.
He needed her as much as she needed him. They were equals—in their lives and in each other’s hearts. Bette knew now that she’d achieved the goals she’d always had, the ones she’d admitted to herself and the one she hadn’t even realized she’d had until she’d applied for the job as Simon Kramer’s assistant. She’d wanted him to fall in love with her.
And she was glad that she’d fallen for him, too.
* * * * *
Look for the next sexy romance in Lisa Childs’s
LEGAL LOVERS miniseries. Ronan Hall meets
his match in LEGAL ATTRACTION.
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RULED by Anne Marsh
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Ruled
by Anne Marsh
Chapter One
Eve
YOU SEE THAT big pink RV parked next to Lake Mead? That vehicle screams look at me. I painted sparkly rainbows and unicorns on both sides, along with my business name. Perfectly Princess Parties. The bling is great advertising, like driving a moving billboard around Las Vegas.
I put the princess in party—there isn’t a five-year-old girl (or boy, frankly) in Vegas who doesn’t believe I’m made of awesome. I specialize in birthday parties—we’re the precake entertainment. We’ve got the dresses, the sparkle and the attitude to keep our audience riveted and wanting to be us when they grow up. Eventually, at some point between five and twenty-five, those same girls will realize it takes more than a dress and a crown to rule the universe, but the fantasy’s fun while it lasts. And yes, I’m cynical. You meet more frogs than princes in my business. Ever notice how there’s an overabundance of amphibians in every fairy tale—and a corresponding drought of royal suitors?
It’s a numbers game.
Since it’s about a million degrees in Vegas today, we’re holding our monthly company meeting lakeside. Despite being as manmade as most Vegas attractions, the lake’s gorgeous. After running through our bookings for the next month and brainstorming new party ideas, we’ve vacated our temporary boardroom (the picnic table underneath a particularly gnarly Joshua tree) for a well-earned swim.
I float in the lake, trying to pretend I’m not still thinking about our financial bottom line and how to drum up more business. Income-wise, we haven’t hit survival levels yet. I tilt my head back, and everything’s better in my relaxed, upside-down world. My three part-time princesses may moonlight as showgirls on the Strip, but they’re paying their bills. Our singing dragon doubles as an Elvis impersonator. He’s crooning the King’s finest to my accountant. Everybody’s taking a moment to let loose just a little and enjoy. We’re going to get there eventually—there being financial security, fat 401Ks and permanent employment.
In fact, the only person not here? Rocker. My business partner and baby brother swore he’d meet us here, but he’s once again failed to make an appearance. He’s busy at an auto body shop where he does custom paint jobs. Plus, he rides with the Black Dogs MC. He swears the motorcycle club is completely on the up-and-up. According to him, the stuff you see in the TV shows or read about on the internet is 98 percent crap and untrue.
It’s the other 2 percent that worries me.
My baby brother now stands a whopping six feet two inches tall. I practically raised Rocker after our parents flaked out on us, and I did the best I could. Money and education—those two things keep you safe, get you out of the lousy neighborhood and into the good places. The princess party business is our first-class ticket out of East Las Vegas to somewhere else. Somewhere safe. I may not know much about clubs or colors, but I do know that bikers are the opposite of safe—and Rocker’s been acting secretive.
A splash sounds somewhere south of my feet and someone tugs on my toes. “Cavalry’s here.”
I sit up fast, butt bumping on the bottom of the lake. Carlie laughs, but she’s already staring up the road, longing painted all over her face. My brother turned out to be hot and the bad-boy-biker thing is just the cherry on the sundae as far as some of my employees are concerned. Carlie starts finger-combing her hair and plumping her boobs up in her teeny-tiny bikini top—a definite Rocker alert.
Sure enough, a big, shiny, way-too-loud Harley approaches our temporary campsite at Mach Seven speed. Rocker drives too fast. He also brakes too late and too hard, his tires sending up a cloud of dust as he stops next to the RV. I wade out of the lake, grab my towel and brace myself for the excuses. He’s endlessly creative when it comes to explaining his absences.
“Looks like I’m late to the party.” A charmingly rueful grin curves Rocker’s mouth. Objectively, I see exactly what makes Carlie daydream about my brother. Dark blond scruff shadows killer high cheekbones and his hair falls around his face in wicked disarray. His legs straddle the bike, encased in worn denim and ending in a pair of impressive black motorcycle boots.
He hops off the bike and sweeps me into a bear hug, grinning down at me. This is why I can’t stay mad at him—no matter what we’ve done or how infrequently we see each other now, he’s always glad to see me. He loves me, and he’s not afraid to let other people know it. Carlie practically swoons behind me as he plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. A guy who’s not afraid to admit his feelings is a prince and is just as rare.
“Fashionably late, Rocker?”
He flicks my nose lightly. “I got held up. Club business.”
It’s always club business with him. “I needed you here.”
He makes a show of looking around the site. “Looks like you’ve got everything covered.”
Uh-huh. We’ve had this conversation before, and it does not improve with age. “We’re supposed to be partners.”
“I’m the silent partner who provided the start-up cash. You provided the brains.”
He gives me another easy smile, but I can tell he’s done discussing this. He’s got a point, too. I need a squeaky-clean image to appeal to the mom crowd—so by hanging back, he’s actually doing me a favor. Plus, if I push him too hard, he’ll just get back on his bike and leave. So I cave.
“You look tired.” This isn’t a polite lie on my part—there are purple shadows beneath his eyes and his pretty face is slightly worn.
“Club’s keeping me busy.” His tone makes it clear that this is another conversational no-fly zone.
“You know you have a job with me anytime you want it.” We’ve had this conversation only about a million times, but it bears repeating. I will always be here for Rocker.
He tilts his head at the RV. “You really see me driving around in that thing?”
“What’s wrong with the Princess Mobile?” Admittedly, the gas mileage sucks, but she gets us where we need to go, she’s great advertising and she has honest-to-God turrets. Pop that sucker up and I can play Rapunzel on demand. It holds my costumes and props, and it gets my princesses from one party to the next.
Rocker’s just starting to list all the reasons a pink ride isn’t his thing when his phone goes off. He looks down and then disappears briefly to take the call.
“I have to go,” he says, sauntering toward me.
Yeah. Color me shocked.
He pulls me into a one-armed hug. “Be extra careful for me, Evie girl?”
“I’m always careful,” I tell him, and sadly, it’s the truth. I’m a color-between-the-lines girl—he doesn’t need to worry about me.
“Promise me,” he insists and I think he’s actually serious.
“You want to be more specific?”
He curses. “Evie—”
“Does it have anything to do with your club?” I point to
the patch on his vest. I’d like to rip the thing off his chest, but it wouldn’t solve the problem.
“Might do. Trouble’s brewing,” he says slowly. “Trust me. You don’t want the details, Evie. I’ve got it handled, though. You don’t need to worry.”
Some things never change—Rocker swears he’s got a situation under control, I worry, and then I conceive a half dozen plans for salvaging said situation. I love my baby brother, but I don’t approve of his lifestyle choices. His biker buddies are bad news. Today, though, he really doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering him, so I nod and promise to be extra careful. He gets back on his bike and tears out of the campsite faster than I’ve ever seen him go. Whatever trouble he’s facing down must be really bad.
It’s one hell of an exit—even more dramatic than the Princess Mobile. It makes it impossible to ignore his departure, which Samantha makes clear when she wanders over, fanning herself.
“God, your brother’s hot.”
I force a smile, although the last thing I want to discuss with my fellow princess is the degree of my brother’s attractiveness. I’ve got bigger things to worry about. “In the category of things I don’t need to know...”
“Who’s hot? And are we sharing secrets?” Carlie wades out of the lake to join us.
“Rocker’s in trouble.”
Samantha wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes gently. “You need to stop worrying about that man. He’s an adult, doing adult things.”
“Funny. That’s exactly what I’m worried about. Life was way easier when he was just afraid of the monsters in the closet.”
“You should be thinking about dating or at least getting laid,” Samantha counters. “Ask Rocker to introduce you to some hot biker.”
“No bikers,” I say firmly.
“Really?” Carlie sounds doubtful.