Shattered Trust (Shattered #2)

by Magda Alexander

  “No, we don’t.” She tosses her head. “My grandfather wasn’t keen on technology.”

  Stone’s phone buzzes, and he excuses himself. While he’s gone, I try to allay Madrigal’s concerns. “He’s only doing what you hired him to do.”

  She shoots me a dirty look. “I didn’t hire him. You did.”

  “You want him to leave? Say the word, and he’ll be gone.”

  “No,” she says, gritting her teeth. “We need the service he’s providing. I just wish it was less intrusive.”

  “You can’t go on the way you have been. Look at how easily Madison’s boyfriend broke in last night.”

  She stamps her foot. “That’s because Madison turned off the alarm!”

  “Well, with him around”—I nod in the direction of Hunter Stone—“that won’t happen again.”

  Finished with his conversation, Stone tucks his cell into his jacket and strides back toward us. “My tech guy will be here in the morning. By sundown tomorrow, he’ll have you all set up.”

  “Thank you. Have you had dinner, Mr. Stone?”

  “Yes, thank you. There’s no need to treat me like a guest. I will eat in the kitchen with the rest of the staff, but first I’d like to be introduced to them and your sister. And then I’ll need to check out your alarm system. If you could arrange it, we’ll also need a command room for our staff so we can set up some equipment—laptops and such—to keep track of things.”

  “Yes, of course.” She’s doing her very best to be polite, but even so, her resentment slips through.

  Stone’s gaze narrows as he studies Madrigal. “This seems pretty intrusive to you.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “I understand. My staff is well trained, Ms. Berkeley. We’ll try to make our presence as invisible as possible. If we do our job right, you’ll hardly know we’re here.”

  His charm gets to her, and she laughs. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  Madrigal smiles at him, and the green-eyed monster within me surfaces. Stone’s at least a couple of years younger than me. And that dimple on his chin? That’s something many women like. Maybe Madrigal’s one of them.

  After we introduce Stone to the staff, Hartley shows him the security system. Last night, Madison confessed she’d been the one to turn it off shortly before her grandfather was murdered. She’d been expecting Philippe and didn’t want him tripping it. It’s a sad state of affairs that no staff member noticed the alarm had been disabled that night.

  As Stone becomes acquainted with the system, Madrigal glances over her shoulder at him. “He seems quite . . . competent, don’t you think?”

  “Seems competent? That man is staring at competent in the rearview mirror. He’s an ex–Navy SEAL, for God’s sake.” Charlie had e-mailed me Stone’s résumé as well as a write-up of his company.

  “Will you need me for anything else, Mr. Stone?” she asks.

  “Not tonight. I’ll just familiarize myself with the equipment. But we’ll need that room as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning. Or do you need it tonight?”

  “No. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

  “Good night, then.”

  “Night.” And with that he turns his attention back to the alarm equipment. It’s hard to get a bead on him. His expression gives nothing away.

  When she takes the curving staircase up to her room, I follow her. I’m about to say good-night and head back to my own space downstairs when she tugs on my tie and lowers my head so she can nibble my lower lip.

  “You’re not jealous of Hunter Stone, are you?” There’s a spark in her eyes, the witch.

  How did she pick up on that? “Of course not.”

  “Why don’t you come in for a minute?” As soon as I do, she walks to the window and draws the curtains. “Nobody will bother us here.”

  Tucking my hands into my pockets, I nod at the door. “Maybe we should hang my tie from the knob?”

  “I doubt Olivia will understand.”

  “Maddy will. She seems pretty savvy. And she’s trying to stay in your good graces.”

  She wrinkles her nose as if she finds the maneuver distasteful. “That would be a bit obvious, don’t you think?”

  “Isn’t that the whole point?”

  Chapter 8

  Madrigal

  Giggling, I fall back on the bed. “You’re jealous of Hunter Stone.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” I glance at my fingernails before peering up through my eyelashes at him. “He is quite yummy, I must admit. But honestly, Steele, he doesn’t do a thing for me. I can’t stand men who issue commands right and left. I had enough of that with my grandfather.”

  Sitting up, I tug on his tie and lower his head so I can kiss him. “I may like Mr. Stone. I may even find him attractive in a primitive male sort of way.”

  He growls and pulls me toward him, a maneuver I just adore.

  “But you’re the one who gets me wet. Now what are you going to do about it, Mr. Steele?”

  “I’m going to get you naked and lick every inch of you, Ms. Berkeley, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Dressed for success as he is, it takes him a while to lose his clothes, but finally he’s standing in front of me in his Skivvies and nothing else, with all that lovely, lovely skin on display.

  I’m wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and it takes him no time at all to rid me of them. All that’s left are my bra and panties.

  “Mmm, I love this bed,” he says after making himself at home on it.

  “I know you do. You’re such a perv. Making out with the school cheerleader.”

  His eyebrows take a hike. “You were a cheerleader?”

  “We’re making believe, silly.”

  “Are we?”

  “Yes. That’s what you wanted to do in this room, isn’t it? Imagine you’re a teenager in another teenager’s room? Maybe you’re the star quarterback who sneaked into my room, and I’m the high school cheerleader. We have to be real quiet in case somebody hears us.”

  His mouth curls up in that wolfish grin that turns me on. “You’d do that for me. Make believe?”

  “Yes. If that’s what you want.”

  “No. What I want is you, my beautiful Madrigal, just as you are.” He threads his hand through my hair and tilts my head to the side so he can nibble his way down my throat.

  Breathless, I ask, “But what if that’s what I want?”

  He stops tasting me only to stare at me. “You want to be the cheerleader making out with the football captain?”

  I shake my head. “No. I used to dream about one of the NSYNC boys sneaking into my room, though.”

  His hand circles my jaw while his thumb presses against my bottom lip as if he wants me to open for him. “Which one?”

  Sucking his thumb into my mouth, I nip the tip. “Lance, of course.”

  He climbs full on the bed, pushes me down, and plants his massive arms on either side of me. “You do know he’s gay.”

  Loving this power play, I brush my hand across his abs, tweak one of his nipples. “I do now. I didn’t know it then.”

  His eyes flash with heat. “How about we do away with fantasy and go for the real thing?”

  I turn serious. “That’s important to you, isn’t it? That I want you and no one else.”

  “Yes.”

  “I do. I want you and only you. I’ve only had one serious boyfriend, and he was a weenie.” I hold up my little finger and giggle.

  “What’s gotten into you? You’re normally not this giddy.” Turning me over, he playfully slaps my bottom.

  “Ouch,” I say, even though it doesn’t hurt. Twisting back, I toss my hands around his neck. “I’m happy, I guess.”

  He playfully nibbles my breasts through my bra. “Why?”

  “Because I really, really like you being here with me.”

  “And I really, really like being here with you.” The heat in his eyes tells m
e he’s ready to drive this up another notch.

  “Turn off the light, Steele.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s better in the dark.” Somehow I feel less inhibited, more powerful in the shadows.

  He rises and flicks off the light switch. While he’s gone, I ditch my bra and panties.

  When he starts to crawl back into bed with me, I remind him about a condom.

  “Right.” He digs around in the dark, curses.

  Even though I’d tossed my playfulness to the side, I can’t help but giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks when he returns to the bed.

  “Reminds me of our first time. You stumbled over something in that hotel room on your way to retrieve a condom.”

  “I banged my shin on the corner of that blasted sofa. It hurt like a son of a bitch.” When he slides me under him, his cock brands itself on my skin. “Now, Ms. Berkeley, shall we get down to business?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Kiss me.”

  “You want me to kiss you?”

  “I just asked, didn’t I?”

  “Very well.” I pull down his head and peck at his lip. He tastes of something sweet, like licorice. Strange. I didn’t know he liked such a thing. I only have a second’s warning before he devours my mouth. I knew he wouldn’t wait long to take control of the kiss.

  He kisses his way down my body, pausing to worship my breasts. “I love your tits, your nipples.” He licks the sides, and they grow heavy with need as he nips and nibbles the tips. Craving attention, my core heats. I wiggle under his assault and tug on his hair. “Lower, Steele.”

  “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”

  He pursues his eager exploration until he arrives at my clit. When his wanton tongue rasps at my pearl, I moan.

  “Ambrosia.” Not wasting time, he slides a finger into my sheath and finger-fucks me. When I arch, he presses down on my midriff to keep me just where he wants me. I squirm as the sound of his erotic assault and the perfume of my need waft around us.

  Eager to be impaled by him, I demand: “Steele, now.”

  “No. Not until you’re mindless with passion. Not until you beg me to fuck you.”

  I’m ready to beg right now, but I sense it’s not a regular supplication he’s after. He wants me to turn over every inch of me to his keeping so he can do what he will with me.

  When he slides a second and third finger into me, I buck under him while his mouth devours my core.

  He then flips me so I’m facedown on the bed and raises my head. “Look at us.” The floor-length mirror that stands on the other side of the room bears silent witness to our passion. I gasp at the picture we make.

  “You want me, Madrigal?” he asks as he strokes his massive cock between my cheeks.

  “You know I do.”

  He teases my opening a bare inch. I buck back to take more of him, but he’s a wily bastard and retreats.

  “Beg me.”

  “Please fuck me.”

  “Hard and fast?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He notches his cock in me and thrusts. Then he pulls back and thrusts again, deeper, faster, and infinitely harder. In and out while he clutches my ass. I love it when he does that. It’s like he can’t get deep enough inside me.

  Finally we come. Him first, me second. We’re drenched in sweat. He rises and goes to the bathroom to toss away the used condom, wash up, and slip back into bed with me. “This bed is really, really small.”

  “I know. We’ll need to find a bigger one if we’re to sleep together.”

  “Are we?”

  “Are we what?”

  “Going to sleep in one together?”

  I brush my hand across the stubble on his chin. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “I would.”

  “Well, there you go. And we’ve certainly got enough beds in this house. Finding one won’t be a problem.”

  For a few minutes, we breathe in unison. Happy that we are together, I clutch him to me while he rests his head on my breasts.

  “Do you believe they haven’t had sex?” I ask, running my hand through his hair.

  “Your sister and Philippe?” His voice rumbles from my chest.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he’s nineteen and believed she was eighteen, the age of consent. So . . .”

  “God. I hope they used protection. He should have asked for her ID.”

  “He did.”

  I come up on my elbows. “You mean she has a fake ID?”

  “Apparently. You’ll have to take it away from her. She can’t be allowed to use it. Aside from the fact it’s illegal, she can get into a world of trouble flashing false identification.”

  I plop back on the bed. “God. I was never this much work.”

  “When you visit the doctor with her, you might want him to draw blood and do a pregnancy test.”

  “You don’t think—oh, God, what if she is?”

  “Don’t jump off that bridge unless you have to, sweetheart. If she is, we’ll handle it. Together.”

  In future days, I would look back fondly on this night. Because it took no time at all for things to turn bad.

  Chapter 9

  Trenton

  Monday morning comes too soon. Much as I hate to leave her, I must. Duty calls me back to the law firm. As we stand in the foyer, I hold her close to me. “I have to go to the office.”

  “I know.” The corners of her lips twist. Perhaps she resents our separation as much as I do.

  Needing to touch her, I brush the back of my hand across the satin softness of her cheek. “How will you spend your day?”

  She curls her arms around my waist, rests her head against my chest. “Studying for the bar exam, after I make a doctor’s appointment for Madison. Hopefully, I can get one for tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest.”

  “Do you have a lead on a doctor?”

  “Yes. I know someone whose sister is a doctor at Georgetown University Hospital. I’ll start there.”

  “If you need help, let me know.”

  She gets that mulish look on her face. “I can handle this, Steele.”

  I kiss her lips, squeeze her arm. “I know you can. Don’t study too hard for the exam. Chances are you already know most of it and only need a refresher course.”

  “I never studied domestic law, and that’s one of the topics we’ll be tested on.”

  “You want me to put you in touch with someone from the Virginia bar?”

  “No, I can do this.”

  The urge to help her burns right through me. But she resents my offer, so I dial it back. “Okay.”

  During the drive to the office, I think about the best approach to take with her. Maybe the best thing I can do is just be there for her instead of constantly offering my assistance. I laugh. Easier said than done given my type A personality. I crank up the hip-hop station, hoping to drown out the control freak in me.

  When I get to the office, a message waits for me. A management meeting is scheduled for nine o’clock, and my presence is requested. Since Mitch’s arraignment is tomorrow, I fill in the time by dialing the Loudoun County Commonwealth’s Attorney’s office to find who’s been assigned to Mitch’s case. The receptionist takes down my information and promises that someone will get back to me.

  When nine o’clock rolls around I make my way up the elevator to the west conference room on the ninth floor. With its view of the mall and the monuments, the room is one of the loveliest in the firm and just big enough for the ten or so members of the management committee. When I step in, a sense of foreboding rolls over me. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but my nemesis, Dick Slayton, is seated at the head of the table, which tells me nothing good can come from this.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  A few of the partners mumble greetings in return, but no one meets my gaze, not even Joss Stanton.

  “Please, Trenton, take a seat,” Dick says.

&n
bsp; Unbuttoning my jacket, I sit near the foot of the table, as far away from Slayton as I can get.

  Dick clears his throat and combs back the little hair he’s got left on his head. “We understand Holden’s death was ruled a murder and not a suicide.”

  “That’s right.” I relax into the seat. Maybe all they want is a sit report from me. Understandable given the circumstances.

  “And Mitchell Brooks has been arrested in connection with the murder and asked you to represent him.”

  I nod. “Yes, he has.”

  “You’ll need to decline representation.”

  I snap upright. Didn’t see that one coming. “Why the hell should I do that?”

  “Holden Gardiner was the founding member of this firm. You can’t represent his accused murderer. It’s morally incomprehensible you’d even consider such a thing.”

  “Isn’t the accused presumed innocent until proven guilty? Besides, there’s no conflict of interest.”

  He shrugs, a clear dismissal of my argument. “Maybe not legally, but morally there is. It’s very simple, Trenton. If you want to represent Mitchell Brooks, you can no longer be a member of this firm.”

  Disgust pours out of my every pore. “And this is the decision of the management committee?”

  “It is. We took a vote this morning. It was unanimous.”

  It’s a power play, plain and simple. Dick never wanted me in the firm and has always resented the hell out of me for being made partner. Rising to my feet, I drill my closed fists into the conference table. “If you expect me to drop Mitch’s representation, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  The son of a bitch smirks. “I expect you’ll represent him no matter the harm to your career. You never were able to look out for yourself. Always trying to save those poor souls who couldn’t afford representation. You refused to look out for the bottom line.”

  How he can make that argument is beyond me. He’s the one who insisted on hiring high-priced lawyers for his practice group who contribute very little to the financial welfare of the firm. “You do realize that many of my clients will follow me? The moment I hang out my shingle somewhere else, they’ll flock to my new firm en masse.”