by Moriah Jovan
She dreaded Knox’s reaction. Not that he would hate it—oh, no, but his “you’ll do” at the symphony was a slap in the face. On the other hand, she trembled every time she thought about his hand in her hair and his smile at her.
And his kiss.
She just didn’t know how she was going to deal with this, looking at him, knowing he wanted her, that her three-year fantasy didn’t have to remain one.
As she climbed the steps with no incident, she gathered her courage in a steam and walked into the office, hoping to approximate a slow version of how Giselle had stormed into it.
Everything came to a halt before she’d taken three steps in and because it did, so did she. Uncertain and very nervous, she looked around at her coworkers, who looked at her in shock.
“Davidson!” came a shout through the door of Knox’s office and he jerked the door open, looking down at a file, and stepping through. He glanced up to look for Davidson and he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her there, standing right in front of him in the middle of the room.
His jaw dropped. His eyes widened. His nostrils flared. Justice felt sick. “What the hell did she do to you?” he barked after he’d collected himself. “I have a good mind to send you home to get something decent on. Get in my office. NOW!”
Trembling, unable to squelch her fear and forgetting everything Giselle had ever said to her, she did as she was told without a word and he stepped aside to let her.
She had to wait a few minutes for him to finish his business with Davidson and when he had, he returned, that angry scowl still on his face. She closed her eyes and gulped. What had Giselle done to her?
The door slammed and she flinched, but she didn’t open her eyes until she felt Knox’s hand on her chin, forcing her head up—and he kissed her.
It wasn’t a nice, sweet kiss like the one at the symphony, oh no. It was firm, demanding, and way too much for her limited experience with men—well, limited solely to Knox, that was. He didn’t touch her other than for his hand on her chin and the kiss that she was falling into, her libido picking up where it had left off the night before last.
She sucked in a breath, her body strung as tight as a violin string.
He drew away from her and she opened her eyes, but didn’t look at him because he had been so angry earlier. She didn’t understand what any of this meant. Her head was a jumbled mess.
“Congratulations.” She gasped at his cruel tone. She looked up at him and his face was hard, cold. “You’re getting married today.”
“What?” she whispered, confused.
“You and I are getting married today. Judge Wilson’s on his way up the back.” He slapped the files he had in his hand on the desk, one single paper on top wafting in its own breeze. He pointed to it. “Sign it. That’s the license.”
“What— I don’t understand. Are you serious?”
“I’m dead serious,” he snarled.
She had indeed slipped down the rabbit hole and Knox was the Mad Hatter.
“I don’t have to marry you. You can’t make me.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “No?”
“No.”
He turned and sifted through the same files, then pulled out a professionally taken zoom shot of her father going about on the farm. “Look at that, Justice. Imagine it with cross hairs.”
She sucked in a breath. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, dread clutching at her throat.
He leaned toward her, his face hard. “Do you want to try me?”
“Why?” she whispered, choking on a sob. “Why me?”
“What’s it gonna be, Justice? Marriage or a dead dad?”
She swallowed and said nothing.
“Marriage it is, then,” he said, and stood over her while she signed the license. He picked it up, stared at it, then looked at her. “What is that?” he barked, pointing to her signature.
“My name,” she whispered. “My name is Iustitia.”
“Is it on your paperwork like that?”
“Yes.”
After staring at her for one more moment, he went to the door and threw it open. “Cipriani. Connelly. Davidson. I need you.”
The three of them came into Knox’s office and closed the door. She looked around her. They actually seemed to know what was going on and their attendance had been anticipated.
“Justice,” Knox said, low, “you are to speak of this to no one. Do you understand me?”
She gulped. “Yes,” she whispered.
Judge Wilson came in quietly through another door in the back of Knox’s office. He said the minimum he felt he needed to. Eric and Richard signed the certificate with alacrity and seemed to know, but not care, that she was doing this under duress. Judge Wilson took the file with him. He nodded grimly at Knox and left the way he came.
“Everybody back to work,” Knox barked when the evidence was gone, and he turned his back on her. “You too, Iustitia,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue after Richard, Patrick, and Eric had closed the door behind them.
She felt like she’d been run over a truck, but she determined that she would not cry. What would Giselle do? she asked herself, and she stood up tall, all five-feet-ten-in-heels of her and she stared at him until he looked up at her to see why she hadn’t gone yet. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Justice gathered herself and spat in his face.
His eyes glittered as he stared at her, wiping her spittle from his face without saying a word. That was much more frightening than anything he could’ve said and she gulped.
Finally he bent down to write something on the back of his business card. He stood then and walked toward her. She trembled in fear, but refused to back up when he got within a centimeter of her, their noses nearly touching.
He pulled at the neckline of her dress and slid the business card unerringly into her lacy, almost nonexistent, bra, staring into her eyes the entire time. “That’s your new address,” he said, his voice filled with things she didn’t understand. “I’m going to send you back to your farm and you’re going to change into something a little less—Blatant. Once you’ve done that, pack your things and take them to that address and make yourself at home. Be back by one o’clock, because I want you in the courtroom.”
“I hate you,” she murmured, her voice steady in spite of her fear, which gave her some more badly needed confidence.
“Uh huh. I can tell by the way you kiss.”
Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed.
“You slap me, Iustitia—” Why was he calling her that? “—and you’ll regret it, I guarantee it. I need a child from you and I need it by Christmas of next year. You do that and on New Year’s Day, we’ll call it square. You only have to put up with me for a year and a half.”
Could it get any worse? She couldn’t decide if she wanted to be angry or confused. “A child? What will you do with it after you get it?”
“Keep it, naturally.”
“I would not abandon my child to you.”
“Then you’re welcome to stay with me, too.”
“How are you going to get this child if I don’t let you—”
He stepped as close to her as he could, his body touching hers, because she wouldn’t back down.
What would Giselle do what.would.Giselle.do.whatwouldgiselledo?!
“Not only will you let me,” he whispered, barely touching his mouth to hers, his eyes open, “you’ll be begging me. I know how you respond to me and I’m going to take every advantage of it.” His lips on hers were light, butterfly kisses, gentle. He caught her bottom lip and touched his tongue to it and she gasped because she was letting him do this to her and she did like it and she hated him and herself for that.
Then he let her go and she darted back to her desk as fast as she could.
* * * * *
74: WEAK ENOUGH NOT TO CHOOSE IT
Somehow, between the moment Knox had told her to go home, change, and pack, and the moment she actually got ready to do so, he
must have changed his mind, because he emerged from his office and grumbled at her, “Put your stuff down and get to work.” He dropped another stack of files on her desk, as Eric was in court. “Your files backed up while you were out stripping Halls and Armani bare.” Justice’s eyes widened and she wondered if this was when he would start holding her “vacation” against her. It seemed so far away ago now, even though it had ended only yesterday.
His mouth quirked as he looked at her. “She has champagne taste and a husband who lives to drench her in it. I know where she shops.”
Justice nearly wilted in relief and she did get to work. She noticed throughout the day that the men looked at her and treated her differently—not in a sexual way, but like an adult, a professional, as opposed to a teenaged girl playing prosecutor. She regretted that Giselle had been right about that.
The defense attorneys who covered the speeding tickets, DUIs, and other such revenue-enhancing offenses of the county, who had gotten to know her when she was still in her sixteen-year-old-girl Sunday school wardrobe, did a double take and didn’t treat her quite so cavalierly. In fact, they acted like she’d actually graduated from law school. On Giselle’s advice, she watched what the female defense attorneys wore and while Justice was pretty sure her neckline was a tad too low and her hem a little too high, it wasn’t in any way inappropriate.
The women also looked twice and their attitudes changed. Before, they’d been kindly amused with her, even compassionate that she was stuck with Knox for a boss. Now they were out for her blood. Perversely, this heightened Justice’s confidence in a way that the men’s treatment of her didn’t. It meant they saw her as a threat—not as a girl who needed gentle handling.
. . . comfortable with who you are when you’re behind a computer . . .
She’d never been comfortable anywhere else and she suddenly realized that all these years, people had patronized and condescended to her.
Except Knox.
That realization wasn’t immediate. It took half a day to remember that from the first moment he’d touched her and talked to her all those years ago, to when he’d hired her, to when he’d found her on the roadside, to when he’d pressed her up against the door, to when he’d threatened her father—never had he patronized her.
She knew how to spot online condescension and deal with it effectively, but in real life . . . Knox’s blatant cruelty had heft and definition. She could catch most of it and throw it back at him even though he frightened her. Condescension and patronization were nebulous weapons she had never seen, but now that she had, they only became more effective because she didn’t know how to deflect them.
You— You’re powerful and— And I want to learn that.
With each defense attorney she met, each file she dispatched in her favor, she grew more confident in herself and her work. It snowballed and she cleared her inbox faster and more efficiently than she thought possible. She was so pleased with herself, with the changes within her that she almost forgot she’d gotten married that morning at gunpoint—
—then remembered the minute Knox appeared at her desk with a speculative look on his face. He said nothing. She looked at the clock and saw it had passed seven; everyone was long gone—and she hadn’t noticed.
“You did well today, Iustitia,” he said, his voice strained from being in court all afternoon. Suddenly, she realized that he was very tired.
“Thank you,” she said warily—because what else could she say? And why was he still calling her that? Her mother was the only one who’d ever called her that and at that moment, she missed her mother very, very badly.
“Pack up your stuff. I want to go home and go to bed.”
Her gut clenched and she swallowed. It wasn’t as if she had forgotten this, precisely. It was more that she had just refused to think about it. She had lost herself in this newfound confidence and respect from her coworkers and opposing counsel, had enjoyed herself and her work—and because of that, she hadn’t had room in her brain to be afraid of Knox, of what would happen if she defied him.
And what would happen if she didn’t defy him.
Right now, though, she did as she was told because she didn’t figure she had a choice. However, she lectured herself very sternly, if he wanted anything from her, he’d have to rape her to get it; that way, she could lay all the blame on him.
But in her soul, she knew that wouldn’t be necessary and that was what she feared most. The memory of that night when she had passed by the Kenards’ bedroom door and heard them making love flashed across her memory and she blushed. Fortunately, she was turned away from Knox, so he didn’t see her face.
He said nothing as he followed her out the door and down the stairs. Sheriff Raines glared at her, but she ignored both him and the frisson of fear that ran through her. She walked toward the AP’s parking spot she’d appropriated—and stopped.
Where was her car?
She turned, panicked, and nearly ran into Knox’s chest.
“You’re coming home with me,” he rumbled, steadying her so she didn’t fall backward, “and your car’s gone for good. It was a piece of shit.”
But it was her piece of—crap. She’d paid for it with money she had worked very hard for and suddenly, she was very angry. She hadn’t even had a chance to fight him for her car the way she’d fought for her dress. Even then, Giselle would have had her way if Mr. Kenard hadn’t interceded on her behalf.
Her nostrils flared as she looked into his eyes. With three-inch heels, she could look Knox in the eye and she liked the equalization. He stared right back at her, daring her to say a word.
So she did. “You have taken everything I have away from me,” she said low, enunciating every word with haughty precision.
“Not everything,” he murmured lazily, his eyes hooded as his gaze raked her from head to toe. “Not yet.”
Justice sucked in a breath, her eyes wide, her mind in turmoil.
The breeze lifted her curls and released one from a loose pin. It flipped across her face and he lifted his hand to smooth the wayward curl from her face and tuck it behind her ear. Then he turned and walked farther down the sidewalk, expecting her to follow. On the one hand, if she did, she’d be capitulating. On the other hand, if she refused, he’d force her. Either way, it would be humiliating.
He’d reached his SUV and had opened the passenger door. He turned to look at her, waiting for her to make up her mind whether to go with or without force.
Finally, resigned, she walked toward him slowly. She might have even dragged her feet if it wouldn’t have ruined her shoes. Surprisingly, he did help her up and in, took her briefcase and closed her door. He opened the back door and put both his and her briefcases there, then proceeded around to the driver’s door. He got in and started the car, then looked at her sideways. “Seatbelt?”
That made her mad all over again. If he’d read anything she’d written, he’d know how she felt about that.
“No,” she said shortly. “I resent that law; I resent most laws that regulate what someone can do with his own property, and by that I mean his body, too.”
Knox sat back and looked at her for a long time, but she refused to look at him.
“Abortion?” he asked quietly and she wasn’t surprised. It was the next logical question, though considering that what he wanted from her was a child, it had much more impact. She was tempted to lie, but couldn’t bring herself to voice an opinion opposite what she truly believed—and if he’d read her, he’d know this too.
“The child’s rights are protected by the Constitution,” she muttered, and she hated that she sounded so sullen.
Knox said nothing for another long while and she finally looked at him. He was leaning back against his door, his face propped on his fingertips, his elbow on the door ledge. He watched her carefully, not a hint of mockery on his face. Other than that, she couldn’t tell what he thought.
“The argument is that it’s not a human being,” he finally said. “
That it’s just a part of a woman’s body and her body, being her property, is free to do with as she wishes.”
She snorted. “I don’t think anybody actually believes that.”
“Yes, some people actually do believe that.”
She looked at him sharply. “Do you?”
“We aren’t talking about my opinion. We’re talking about yours.”
“Okay,” she said, engaged now, and she turned toward him, her knee crooked in the seat. She leaned toward him, suddenly completely dismissing who he was and why she was in his car. “Why is it that in an abortion clinic, a fetus is being terminated and in the NICU down the street, a baby of the same gestational age is given all sorts of heroic treatment to save its life? Where’s the logic in that? Who decides that one is a person worth saving and the other’s just a part of the woman’s body and how do they decide that? The mother decides: A human being or a mass of tissue, depending on her circumstance. If puppies were terminated that way, PETA would be all over it. And why is it that in some jurisdictions, killing a pregnant woman is charged as two murders, but abortion isn’t a crime? If choice is such an issue, why couldn’t a woman choose to use birth control?”
“Rape? Incest? That’s not a woman’s choice.”
She drew in a breath and it was a long time before she admitted, “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to sort that out in my head yet. I try to think what I’d do and I just— I don’t know.”
Knox stared at her and she returned it until she remembered who she was talking to, where, and why. And when she did, she opened her mouth and snapped, “But it looks like I might have to start thinking about it, huh? I might have to rethink my whole position.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond; he simply turned to back out of the parking space. She noticed he hadn’t put on his seatbelt, either.
The ride to his home was absolutely silent, which reminded her of Giselle’s penchant for silence. She had so many questions for him, left over from when she’d still held him in such high regard, but wasn’t really interested now. What could he say that would bring back her opinion of that man who’d touched her in class and defended her and set her firmly on the path to political punditry?