The Bridgewater Case

by R. C. Martin

  I don’t like the frightened look I see in her gaze, like she’s unsure of something. I don’t know what the fuck happened to her today, but I know it’s time I put an end to any and all doubt she might be feeling about us. I lift myself up and grip the back of her neck, pulling her toward me. I press a hard kiss to her lips, and she wraps her arms around me, crushing her tits against my chest. She continues to rock her hips as my tongue fills her mouth, and I hold her to me with both arms, willing my dick to hold on, but sure that I won’t be able to last much longer.

  When I feel myself starting to lose control, I force a hand in between us and find her clit with my thumb. She cries out softly as I rub firm, hard circles against her swollen, wet nub, shoving her fingers up into my hair. She touches her forehead to mine, her fists closed tight around the strands as her whole body begins to tremble.

  “Dane—oh, shit—Dane!”

  We come together, and I hold her still against me—her pussy clamping around my cock as I explode inside of her. I lick her lips as I groan, my pleasure sending a rush up my spine all the way to the base of my neck. For a moment, neither one of us moves as we pant for breath. The warm, wet sensation of our shared climax settles between us, and I know I don’t want her to move. I want her to feel it. I want her to feel us. I want her to feel certain that I’m right here—and I’m not going anywhere.

  “Right here, babe,” I mumble against her lips. “You need me, I’m fucking here. Get me?”

  “Yes,” she whispers with a slight nod. “I hear you.”

  She seals her word with a kiss, and I don’t hesitate to kiss her back. Except, when she jerks her hips forward, I know we’re not done here. She needs more—and fuck me, I’ll give it to her. If it takes all damn night, I’ll give her all she needs.

  Two Weeks Later…

  I ROLL OVER AT the sound of the shower and open my eyes just in time to see Dane step under the water. Hiding my smile, I snuggle under the covers a little more, wishing I could stay wrapped up in their warmth all morning. Regardless of my desires, I know that long before I’m ready, I’ll have to get up to face the day. To make myself feel better, I watch Dane run his hands all over his body, soaping himself down.

  I’m certain I’ll never tire of this view from bed. He’s a marvelous specimen of a man. Every time I see him naked, I can’t help but think of all the ways he’s so adept at using his body. My remembrance turns me on even now, and I’m half tempted to join him in the shower when my phone alerts me to a new message.

  Frowning, I tear my eyes away from Dane and reach for my phone on the nightstand. Seeing a text from Ellery, my brow furrows even further as I swipe my finger to open it.

  I can’t wait four more days. I just CAN’T. Are you awake?!?!?!

  Her mention of my visit in four days chases away my frown, but I don’t bother texting her back. It’s not even six o’clock here yet, which means it’s not yet five o’clock in L.A. Anxious to know what has her up at this hour, I press the call option and bring the phone to my ear as I shift my focus across the room again.

  “Sally, hi,” she answers in a mock whisper.

  “Elle, what are you doing awake right now?” I ask, my voice still hoarse from sleep. “And why are you whispering?”

  “Pryce is still sleeping.” I hear the click of a shutting door before she goes on to admit, “I’m freaking out, Sticks. I have to tell someone. It’s all so freaking much. I don’t know what to do. Timing is atrocious, between work and Pryce’s restaurant—god, what if I have a nervous breakdown?”

  Pushing myself up until I’m sitting with my back against the pillows, I rake my fingers through my hair and softly insist, “Ellery, slow down. What are you—”

  “I’m pregnant,” she spits out before I can finish.

  “Wha—”

  “I didn’t plan for this. You know I didn’t plan for this. Babies—babies are not the plan,” she hisses. I imagine her pacing back and forth, like she so often does when she’s anxious, and I desperately wish I wasn’t so far away.

  Still in full-on freak out mode, she doesn’t let me get a word in before she goes on to say, “Do you know how long Pryce and I have been saving for him to be able to follow his dream? Years. Years, Sally! Now is not the time for this. We can’t afford to feed a little mouth. Not to mention, we’re so damn busy that we could go days without sharing a meal together, and we live in the same condo. Oh, my god, how did this happen? What am I going to tell him? How are we going to do this?”

  “Hey—stop!” I demand, crawling out of bed. Once on my feet, I find myself pacing, as if I’m trying to keep up with her from thousands of miles away. “I’d first like to point out that nobody is ever ready for a baby. Even if they plan for it, they’re not ready. I don’t think it works that way.”

  “But—”

  “Second!” I cut in, lifting two fingers as if she’s standing in front of me. “You can do anything, Elle. I mean it. It’s part of the reason I admire you so much. You never claim defeat. Never. It’s why you’re such a fantastic lawyer; it’s why you’re a good wife; and it’s why you’re going to make an amazing mother.

  “Third…” I stop pacing, smiling down at my feet before closing my eyes shut tight. “I know you,” I whisper. “You wouldn’t be freaking out if there wasn’t a part of you that wanted this baby.”

  She sighs, and I hear the wobble in her breath before I hear her sniffle. “But what if we’re awful, selfish parents? What if we can’t do it? I didn’t…I didn’t plan for this.”

  I open my mouth to respond but am startled when I feel Dane’s hand rest against my hip. My head jerks up, and I see him standing in front of me, wrapped only in a towel, a scowl tugging at his eyebrows.

  “Everything okay?” he mutters softly.

  For a second, I’m caught between two different conversations, each of them reminding me of one thing. I glance down at the shirt that covers my body—one of Dane’s pristine, white undershirts—and then reach out to rest my hand on Dane’s waist. Stepping closer to him, I touch my forehead against his hot, damp chest and breathe him in—the man I never planned for.

  “Elle-my-belle, sometimes the best things in life aren’t planned. Especially not when they’re people. Have you told Pryce?”

  “Not yet. I’m afraid he’ll—”

  “He’ll what? He loves you, Ellery. He loves you more than the restaurant, more than you love the law—he loves you. You’ll get through this together. You’ll decide what you want together. You just have to tell him.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. I know,” she breathes.

  “Talk to him. Call me later if you need, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “And, Elle?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re not selfish, and you’re definitely not awful. Congratulations, sis.”

  “Thanks,” she whispers.

  We exchange our final goodbyes, and then I tilt my head back to look up at Dane. He doesn’t repeat his earlier question verbally, but I can see it in his eyes. Pressing up on my tiptoes, I pucker my lips in a silent request. He closes the short distance between us, kissing me softly before I assure him, “Everything’s going to be great.”

  Taking me at my word, he kisses me once more and then returns to the bathroom to finish his morning routine. I follow behind him after discarding my phone, headed for the shower.

  As I shampoo my hair, I think back over the last four months. When I moved out here, I was optimistic, but I couldn’t have dreamed up a life like this. My job is amazing, the man I’m falling in love with even more so, and I’ll be taking the bar in a little less than two months. For the most part, I have nothing to complain about. Though, I haven’t forgotten about the threats I’ve received, casting a dark cloud over me whenever I think about them.

  Things have been pretty quiet in the last couple of weeks, and nothing new has happened. I still haven’t figured out what to do about the letter, but the silence makes me curious as to whet
her or not these threats are really something to stir up deep concern. Looking back, I can’t deny that each one has scared the shit out of me, but no harm has been done. Yes, I was grabbed and held against my will, but only for a moment, and he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t even take me anywhere.

  Our case against Flash Packing Co. and Rollin Mammoth Trucking is solid. While we have a couple of months until the trial begins, we don’t need anymore discovery time. The witnesses we have lined up are ready and willing to testify about Royce Bridgewater’s mechanical skills and experience. We also have our own experts, who can look at the raw data and strengthen our argument that the trucking company has been cutting corners for years. All in all, it’s enough to make us confident that we can win. Dane is looking to get Janet millions.

  Add to that the consequences both companies will be up against if they are found guilty; if the jury sees they knowingly put men behind the wheels of trucks that were not safe. The evidence we’ve gathered implies it was all because they estimated it would cost them too much to correct the issue properly. Now, it will cost them even more. Given that our digging has found these companies are not merely tied together by trade, but also in bed together financially, they could both go down for good.

  That said, these threats are only further proof that they will likely be found guilty. It’s obvious they are desperate for us to settle, but we won’t. We’ve come too far and we’ve found too much. Yet, even still, it’s possible they won’t actually do anything to bring me any real harm. If they do, they’ll be in even more shit than they are already. No, we haven’t been able to physically prove that whoever is threatening me is directly tied to either company, but it’s still a huge risk on their part—a risk I’m not sure they’re willing to take.

  I shake all thoughts of the threats and the pending trial out of my head as I step out of the shower, not wanting to worry about it right now. It’s the week before Christmas, and I’m counting down the days until my trip home with Dane. I smile, remembering our most recent conversation about the trip. He informed me that he booked us a hotel and got us a rental car. When I assured him that wasn’t necessary and we could just stay with my parents, he then spent the next twenty minutes showing me why he begged to differ. I couldn’t really put up much of an argument after that.

  “Hey,” Dane mutters as he comes up behind me, resting a hand against my hip.

  I’m still wrapped in a towel, my toothbrush in my mouth and toothpaste foaming around my lips as our eyes meet in the mirror above the sink.

  “The roads are going to be slick. You be careful, all right?”

  “I promise,” I mumble with a nod.

  He smiles at me and then kisses the back of my damp hair. “See you in a bit.”

  “Bye, baby.”

  I squeak as I lean over to spit, barely noticing when the back of my towel is lifted before his hand makes contact with my bare ass. He chuckles, and I spin around only to see his retreating figure. I try and think of a way to retaliate, but as I watch him leave, it dawns on me that I sort of love how much he likes smacking my ass. It’s like his thing. Besides—my ass is his.

  My ass.

  My body.

  My heart.

  I’m all his.

  I’VE ALWAYS MANAGED to stay busy during the holiday season. I’ve never been close with my extended family, and I haven’t bothered to celebrate anything with my father since he and my mother split. While I usually make an appearance at Hale’s family gathering after Christmas morning with my mother, I’ve never really had a reason to slow down at the end of the year. However, this year is different. This year, I’ve got a reason to take some legitimate time off. Come Saturday, I’ll be out of the office until after the New Year. While I won’t be entirely unplugged, I have no intension of conducting any business that can’t be handled via my phone during my visit to California.

  I knew the moment she asked for a kiss on Thanksgiving morning that I’d go home with her. There’s something about knowing I have the power to make her happy that has an effect on me. It makes me want to do things I’ve never wanted to do before. It makes me want to consider sacrifices I’ve never wanted to make before. It makes me want to put myself, my habits, and my routine aside in order to offer her whatever it is that she wants—whatever it is that makes her happy. The most remarkable part about this is, all she’s ever asked for is me.

  When she asked me if I wouldn’t mind leaving work at home while we traveled, it was then that I knew. It was in that moment—when I contemplated exactly what I could feasibly give up for her—it was then that I realized. If I could give her the world, I would. And if she asked me for my heart, she’d find she already has it.

  She doesn’t know it yet, but I have plans of asking her to move in with me. Soon. I don’t know the terms of her lease, but we’ll figure it out. What I am sure of is that she’s not moving back to that shitty apartment after the Bridgewater case is put to bed. She belongs with me, and my mind is already made up.

  “Hey, can I bother you for a minute?”

  I look up and find her peeking her head into my office, her coat on and her purse slung over her shoulder. I wave her in, leaning back in my chair as she makes her way toward me.

  “I’m done for the day. Do you have any idea how much longer you’ll be?”

  Reaching up to rub my knuckles against the side of my jaw, I glance down at the paperwork in front of me and shake my head. “An hour? Hour and a half? I don’t want to stay too late. I’m just trying to tie up loose ends before we fly out.”

  “Yeah. I understand.” She smiles at me.

  The excitement that sparkles in those green eyes of hers every time we talk about Christmas in California makes my chest swell.

  “I was thinking I could make us dinner tonight. If you’re sure you won’t be too late, I’ll start it as soon as I get to the house.”

  “Sure. Sounds good. Drive carefully. Text me when you’ve made it?”

  “I will. See you soon.”

  As I watch her leave, I draw in a deep breath and then blow it out in a huff. Knowing what’s waiting for me at home is an extra bit of incentive for me to focus and get my ass out of here. Over the next hour, I do just that.

  It’s a few minutes after six when I shut things down, and I’m shrugging on my coat when I make my way to the elevator. There’s still a little bit of activity in the office, but I know as the week drones on, it’ll only get quieter—people going out of town to be with family. Maverick is out already, and I know Rebecca plans on jetting away from here in a couple of days—both of them headed abroad for the remainder of the year. I’m unaware of my father’s plans, but I try not to pay him any mind these days.

  When my phone alerts me to a text as I step into the parking garage, I’m quick to pull it out of my pocket. Seeing that it’s a message from Sigourney, I slide my finger across the screen to read what she’s sent. Before I can even unlock my phone, someone jerks my arm, causing me to drop my device. I turn to see who the fuck is touching me, but then both of my arms are pulled behind me, leaving my middle exposed.

  “What the fuck?” I bark, trying to pull against the resistance holding me back. As I struggle, I can tell there are two men behind me, and I sense they’re losing their grip. Except, before I can shake them off, there’s movement in front of me that distracts me. I lock eyes with the hooded figure just before he shoves his fist in my gut.

  He hits me hard enough to knock the wind out of me, and I double over with the blow. That gives him the opportunity to connect his fist with my jaw, which only pisses me the fuck off. I increase my efforts to free my arms in order to fight back, but then someone else’s foot smashes into my ribs. I lose my balance, and my knees give way. The second they connect with the concrete, I’m attacked with blow after blow—fists, feet, elbows, knees—any opening they have, they take. I stop fighting when they break my nose and the pain becomes too much. I’m more worried about defending myself than anything else, but i
t’s no use.

  They don’t stop until I start to lose consciousness. I can barely keep my eyes open, the pounding in my head almost unbearable. Before I slip into the darkness, one of them rams his heel into my stomach and then kneels down to whisper in my ear.

  “Tell that cunt she was warned.”

  I KNOW DANE has been putting in extra hours for the last week, in spite of the fact that business has slowed down a bit. It’s all in an effort to leave work in Colorado when we go to California. Knowing how important his work is to him, and fully aware he’s that lawyer whose clients can get in touch with him at almost any time, it means a lot to me that he would promise to unplug a little bit. With that in mind, I wanted to try and put forth a little extra effort of my own. Of course, his workload often dictates my workload, but I managed to get done early today.

  I’ve cooked for him plenty of times before, and he’s not bad in the kitchen himself, but our homemade meals aren’t usually extravagant. Dishes that require a bit of additional work are better saved for the weekends—if he doesn’t want to go out or order in. Tonight, however, I wanted to go the extra mile and make him a dinner I remember him thoroughly enjoying.

  As soon as I pull into his garage and shut the door behind me, I take my phone out of my purse and text him to let him know I’ve arrived safely. I then hurry to the bedroom and change into something more comfortable. I end up in a pair of jeans and one of his crew neck sweaters. It’s cashmere, and warm, and fabulous. It feels so good against my skin, and it smells like my man.

  Making my way out of the closet, in the Ugg slippers he bought me last weekend, I remember the look on his face the first time I threw on one of his sweaters. I had to get up to pee on Sunday morning, and it was cold when I climbed out of bed. Our clothes were still in a heap on the floor from the night before, and his sweater was the first thing I touched. Let’s just say, when he saw me emerge from the bathroom—I wasn’t wearing the sweater for much longer. Now, I relish in the memory of the fire I saw in his aqua blue eyes, putting out of my mind the fact that I’m wearing a piece of Burberry, which probably cost a couple hundred dollars.