by Taylor Lee
Jorden glanced at his brothers and conceded with a discouraged nod, “Not sure about the food, given that my gut is churning like a fucking cement mixer, but a resounding yes to the booze. As for the Judge, and I presume Jake, by all means let’s all go to the Ambassador Club. At least there’s no chance that either Judge Mortenson or Ms. Lundgren will crash the party. Too many cocks for the fair ladies, who I’ve heard refuse to eat there because the Gentleman’s Club only started admitting female members thirty-five years ago instead of a hundred years ago when it was built.”
Jude barked a laugh. “Guess it doesn’t matter that it was the Judge who got the rules changed. He refused to be a member unless the club was open to anyone who could afford the membership fee. A sum that both of those bitchy women can easily afford.”
Jared chimed in. “Yeah, but then they’d have to admit that the reason they aren’t being discriminated against is because of the actions of a man. A Justice man at that.”
****
“Are you telling us that Sylvia Mortenson had the audacity to say that the burden was on you to prove why Francine couldn’t see the girls unsupervised? Even though that’s what the skaggy bitch has been doing for two weeks against the direct order of the court?”
Jorden answered Jude’s incredulous question with a despondent sigh. “Not only did she say that, but she insisted that the fact that Chloe and Francine had to ‘sneak around’ the court order proved that it was outdated.”
The Judge’s face was purple with suppressed anger. “Goddammit, Jorden. That despicable bitch is re-litigating your confirmation fight for the AUSA position. It’s as obvious as the nose on my face or the wart that is certainly on her flabby ass.”
“Yes, Judge, that’s exactly what she’s doing, and she’s doing it on the backs of my daughters. She’s putting them at risk to prove that in this case, she’s the judge and jury and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.” He added with a sardonic shrug, “Christ, even Mary Ellen Lundgren seemed taken aback at Sylvia’s zealotry. But I gotta tell you, between the two of them, they picked my bones clean. When I brought up Francine’s behavior at the birthday party, Sylvia jumped in and said that she could imagine how distraught a mother would be after being barred from her daughter’s sixteenth birthday party. As she said, “Why, I understand that you wouldn’t even allow Mrs. Justice to buy her daughter a party dress.”
Jake was nonplussed. “Christ, man, the judge made that charge?”
“Yeah, bro, like I said, even Mary Ellen looked disconcerted at that one.”
Jude scrubbed at the scruffy facial hair decorating his chin. “In other words, we’re supposed to ignore the fact that stoned out of her mind, Francine stole the girls away from you, shacked up with three fucking men who were all high on drugs, and the only way we found them was because Chloe managed to find a phone? Now we’re supposed to believe that that same Francine deserves the mother of the fucking year award and you—you, dude, are the poster boy for a man determined to abuse his wife by keeping her children from her.”
“Don’t forget to add, Jude, a powerful man determined to prevent his former wife from seeing her children. Between the two of them, Mary Ellen and the judge must have referred to the power I have twenty times over. The power of my position, of our name, our wealth, you name it. Apparently Mrs. Justice, as she’s now calling herself, had to reclaim that title to have a fighting chance to retrieve her daughters from their powerful father who happens to be the Assistant US Attorney for the Ninth District.” He huffed a hard sigh. “That fucking bitch referred to my office five times in the hour-long discussion. I counted.”
Jorden let the heavy silence among them settle for a long minute. Pouring himself a stiff shot of the Scotch they were drinking, he tossed it back, then not bothering to swipe at the moisture flooding his eyes, he said with a dejected sigh, “The only thing that craven bitch referred to more than my title was Chloe’s note to her. The note that asked the judge to please not let her father keep her from seeing her mother as he has for the last seven years.”
Many minutes and another bottle of Scotch later, Jorden appealed to Jude. “Any chance, Detective Justice, you can drive a brother where he needs to go?” He tossed a sardonic wink at Jake. “Wouldn’t want to be pulled over by the DPD Commander and arrested for a DUI. Wouldn’t help my chances with the court…”
Minutes later, Jude pulled up in front of the apartment building. “Sure you can make it to the door without help, big brother?”
Jorden gave a scathing chuckle. “Fuck it, man, I may be close to falling down drunk, but I think I can make it to the door under my own power.” He added with a drunken chortle as he hauled himself out of Jude’s low-slung Porsche. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we, bro?”
When she opened the door, Jorden leaned against the frame for support and stared at her, bleary-eyed. Knowing that his words were slurred, he said them anyway. “When I came the other night, I said that I wasn’t drunk but I’d like to be.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, tonight I’m about as drunk as I get. Mind if I come in?”
Chapter 13
Mac reached for Jorden’s arm and helped him through the doorway into the foyer. Startled at his disheveled appearance, she glanced over his shoulder and saw Jude sitting in his car at the curb. Relieved that Jorden hadn’t driven himself, Mac nodded at Jude’s salute, then closed the door behind them. Given how big Jorden was, and how unsteady, she decided their best bet was to get him to the closest room—her bedroom. A bed would come in handy. It was clear that he was close to the passing out stage and it was a cinch she’d never be able to pick him up if he fell.
Jorden didn’t resist when she helped him shrug off this suit coat and lie back against the stacked pillows propped up against the headboard. She bent down and slipped off his expensive Cole Hann leather loafers and lifted his legs up onto the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, she undid his belt buckle and slid the tooled leather strap from the belt loops. She explained, “Now you’ll be more comfortable.”
His goofy smile didn’t mask the pain she saw in his eyes. In a slurred voice, he cackled, “You gonna take off my pants too, Coach?” He grunted and added, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, unlike the other night, I couldn’t get my cock up if I shot it full of Viagra.”
Mac cast a disbelieving glance at the impressive bulge tenting his trousers and muttered, “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Jorden. Unlike most men, apparently alcohol doesn’t discourage your uh…appendage from showing itself.”
Jorden followed Mac’s gaze, then frowned. Wonder coating his voice, he muttered, “Well, I’ll be damned.” He peered up at her. “It must be you, McKenna. I had trouble getting up your front steps, much less calling this rowdy guy of mine to attention.”
Mac ignored him and spread the angora throw on the bottom of the bed over him. “I’m going to make us both some strong coffee, Jorden. Will you be okay? Do you want a glass of water or anything before I go?”
He snorted, “If I asked you to bring me a bottle of Scotch and a tumbler, can I assume you’d decline?”
“Yes, Mr. Justice, that would be a safe assumption.” Tucking the warm throw around him, Mac then headed for the door. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Call me if you need me.”
She returned ten minutes later and placed a carafe of rich, dark coffee and two mugs on the bedside stand. His eyes were closed and Mac assumed Jorden was sleeping. Even so, the strain on his face was apparent. Deep lines creased his forehead and his firm jaw was clenched as though he was grinding his teeth. The web of smile lines around his eyes were etched more deeply, telegraphing pain, not laughter. She decided to let him rest when her phone vibrated.
Seeing Jude’s number on the caller ID, she went into the hallway to answer the call.
“How’s he doing, Mac?”
“He’s sleeping now, Jude. Or I think he is. He could just be passed out.”
“Unlikely. Through years of intentional practice, we Justice brother
s can hold a disgraceful amount of alcohol and to my knowledge, not one of us has passed out.” Jude’s anguished sigh was audible. “No, Mac, what you’re seeing is my big brother’s attempt to deal with the hardest blow he’s taken to date.”
“From Francine?”
“Worse. From Chloe.”
After a lengthy conversation, Mac leaned against the wall in the foyer and closed her eyes. Replaying the totality of Jude’s discouraging narrative, she wrestled with the knowledge that Jorden likely wouldn’t have given into Francine’s request for unsupervised visits if she hadn’t recommended it. Blowing out a hard sigh, she stopped trying to second-guess her advice. From what Jude had said, it was clear that Chloe had been much more deceitful than Mac had assumed. Which must have crushed Jorden’s heart.
Hearing a rustling sound from the bedroom, she returned to see Jorden sitting up against the headboard. He was holding a half-empty mug of coffee in his hand and nodded to her when she entered. He was pale, tired looking, but definitely alert, confirming Jude’s analysis of the Justice brothers’ ability to hold their liquor.
He huffed and met her gaze. “Which of my nursemaids was that?”
When she told him it was Jude, he nodded. “To be expected. As my designated driver, he must have agreed to be on call tonight. Just hope he’s called off the rest of the posse or you’ll be inundated with solicitousness à la Justice brother style.”
“You’re lucky, Jorden. Your family loves and supports you. And worries about you.”
When he merely nodded, Mac decided to press. “From what Jude told me, they have reason to worry. It sounds like your conference with that awful judge and Francine’s lawyer was heartbreaking.”
Jorden shot her a narrow frown and then repeated with an agreeing nod, “Heartbreaking.” He sighed and added, “You’re right, Mac. That is precisely the right word to describe it.” He added as if to lighten the pain coating his words, “Is that the well-honed psychologist speaking?”
Mac shook her head. “No, Jorden, just a woman deeply concerned about you and your family, who wishes you weren’t hurting.”
When he didn’t answer, she waited for a moment, then asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
After a short pause, she echoed his laugh, indicating that they both remembered Mac asking the same question on that first fateful night.
“I guess that is my psychologist voice speaking. We’ve been taught that conversation always helps.” She added with a sniff, “Except when it doesn’t.”
She refilled his cup, then poured herself a cup of coffee and sunk into the overstuffed chair next to the bed. Their silence stretched across several moments before Mac decided to break it. “If I suggested that you would be more comfortable if you take off your pants and shirt, would you assume I’m making a pass at you?”
Jorden’s brow quirked up as did the corner of his mouth. He said with an ironic grin, “I could hope.”
Mac rose to her feet and motioned to his shirt. “I have a better idea, counselor.”
“Better than making a pass at me? Hmm, it better be good.”
Swinging his legs off the bed and helping him sit on the edge, Mac unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his body. Seeing his muscular torso, she stifled the gasp that rose in her throat. Damn, how could she have forgotten his broad shoulders and the lean muscles striping his chest? The jerking response in her groin confirmed that particular part of her anatomy hadn’t forgotten the enticing sight. She resisted the impulse to run her fingers through the curly black hair on his chest, seeking the round flat nipples hiding below. The tufts of hair trailed over his muscle-hard abs to the top of his pants—and below. The thought of where they stopped sent a flurry of sensation and a flood of moisture through her wanton pussy.
Trying to make light of the situation, she said nonchalantly, “When I stopped studying books to learn what my patients needed and started treating them, I discovered that touch is as powerful a therapy as talk.”
She laughed at his raised brow and said, “No, not that kind of touch, counselor. In addition to getting my doctorate, I learned from a lifetime of sports injuries how important body work is.”
She motioned for him to stand and waved at his pants. “Although I’ve never told a patient to take off his clothes, you’re going to have to get rid of those.” Glancing at his groin, she smiled. “Before you get your hopes up, know that I give a mean therapeutic massage.”
Marching to the door, she grinned over her shoulder. “Do as the doctor says, Mr. Justice. Shuck off the rest of those clothes, then lay face down on the bed while I go and get my treatment accessories.”
****
Jorden didn’t try to muffle his grateful groans. God knows, he’d had massages before, ranging from erotic massages to “beat the knots into submission” sports massages. But he admitted he’d never had anything close to what Mac was doing to his tightly wound body. Her strong fingers sought and found every knotted pressure point from his scalp to the bottom of his feet. She rubbed fragrant oil into his shoulders, his back, his ass, and his legs with long, sure strokes. It was as if she was studying the topography of his body with her hands, learning its totality before she went to work. When she’d oiled him from head to toe, testing particular muscle groups along the way, she crawled up over him and sat on his ass, anchoring her knees on either side of his hips.
She started kneading his scalp, searching for the tight knots buried there. She tugged on his hair gently at first, then harder. Jorden wasn’t surprised when his interested cock jerked in response to the seductive mix of pain and pleasure. Even though his unruly member was pressed against the bed, he knew from Mac’s amused sniff that she’d felt its reaction to her probing fingers.
Little by little he stopped analyzing what she was doing and how it was affecting his libido, and gave into the relief coursing through him. With each pressure point she released, a river of tension flowed out of body, leaving him weak and vulnerable.
He didn’t know how long she worked on him, or how many places she treated with her skilled touch when he felt moisture leaking down the side of his face. He felt it trickling, then collecting by his ears. He tried to catch the sob that escaped his throat, attempting to turn it into a masculine grunt, but his skilled masseuse saw through it—and him.
Her voice was as soft, as gentle as her hands were firm. “It’s all connected, Jorden. Our muscles, our minds, and our emotions. Let it go, big guy. You’re safe with me.”
He allowed himself to do what he couldn’t remember doing since he’d watched his mother and father’s speedboat explode, throwing their broken bodies high into the air—he cried.
Mac continued to rub him, stroke him until his raspy sobs settled into an occasional shaky jerk. When she climbed off of him and left the room, he managed to compose himself. She returned and handed him a washcloth and a glass of water, motioning for him to sit up against the headboard.
He smiled at her and patted the space next to him. “Only if you’ll sit here, woman with the magic hands.”
She nodded and crawled over beside him. He wrapped his arm around her slim shoulders and tugged her next to him. They were quiet for several long minutes before Jorden got enough courage to speak. “I haven’t allowed myself to remember my parents’ murder—at least not see their bodies exploding in the air—for…years.”
Mac nodded. “Skylar told me how your parents were killed. She said you were eleven years old when you witnessed the tragedy. That you were the only one who saw it happen. I can’t begin to imagine what you went through—all of you—when you learned that an evil person had rigged your parents’ boat to explode.”
He agreed. “Yeah, that tragedy has pretty much shaped our lives.”
“It would have to, Jorden.”
He was thoughtful. “I could blame breaking down on the booze. But it wasn’t that, although I’m sure the amount that I drank tonight lowered my defenses.” He tipped up her chin and gazed into her eyes, need
ing to make sure she understood. “It was you, Mac. You reached me in places that no one ever has. You…you’re a gifted healer, Dr. Durant. Thank you.”
He added with a hard sigh, “I’m also not brain-dead. I know what happened today didn’t help.” He hesitated, then said after a hard sigh, “I presume Jude told you about my meeting with Judge Mortenson and Francine’s attorney?”
When she nodded, Jorden said, “I could have handled it, Mac. Francine and her sociopathic desire to bring me to my knees. But, Christ almighty, nothing like adding two hateful women to the equation who are so blinded by their prejudices that they can’t see what an evil woman is trying to do to her children.” He paused for a long moment then added bitterly, “I could have handled it, all of it. What I couldn’t handle was knowing that it was Chloe who put the nail in my coffin.”
Chapter 14
Jorden pressed his hands against the shower wall, welcoming the heated stream scorching his back. He longed to wash all of the emotion and pain that Mac had elicited from his tortured body down the drain. He marveled at her healing hands. He’d never been touched the way that she had touched him. With deep, sure strokes she’d gone to the source of his anguish, helping him to release the pent-up agony tormenting him. He’d been able to tell her how much it hurt to learn that it was Chloe who’d sealed Sylvia Mortenson’s ruling. Feeling the water beginning to cool, he decided it was time to leave the steamy cocoon and hunt down the woman who’d been ministering to his body and spirit for the last three hours.
Rubbing his torso with one of her fluffy towels, he chuckled when his cock swelled. Christ, talk about a primal reaction. All he had to do was brush up against something with her scent on it and his prick rose to attention. At that moment, he smelled something almost as delicious as her heady fragrance. He wrapped the towel around his waist after toweling off his hair and strode to the doorway.
“I didn’t know anything could smell as spicy and intoxicating as you, Mac, but I have to tell you whatever you’re serving has my stomach growling so loud, I might have to shout to be heard.”