It wasn’t even ten o’clock on the morning of the day after I’d been arrested, the same morning I’d been suspended from my job, yet Camden had worked his magic so I was grinning from ear to ear when we walked into the small office at the impound yard.
“I’ll be right with you,” greeted a police officer with dark-brown hair who I recognized as a kid Ramsey had gone to school with, his eyes still glued to his computer.
“Hey, Nathan,” I said, stopping at the counter.
He flicked his gaze to mine, his eyes flashing wide before doing a double take. I was used to that. Being the county villain, I usually elicited two responses from people. Either they hated me and went out of their way to make sure I knew it or they hated the Caskeys. And while they didn’t openly support me, they just ignored the problem altogether.
“Officer Pollard,” he corrected, landing himself firmly in the former category.
Okay, so clearly, Nathan Pollard’s balls had dropped since I’d watched him get pantsed in front of the entire school in ninth grade.
I gritted my teeth. “Right. Sorry, Officer Pollard. We’re here to pick up my car.”
“Hmm,” he hummed, his gaze drifting to Camden. “And you needed your lawyer for that?”
Jesus, the Clovert gossip train must have worked overtime for him to already know Camden was my lawyer.
Camden shot him a sardonic smile. “How about you do your damn job and hope someday you get promoted to big-boy cop status, Nathan.”
His eyes narrowed on Camden and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Damn, it felt good to finally have backup.
Without retort, he turned back to his computer.
I bumped Camden with my shoulder and he shot me a wink, and for a brief second, I forgot I was the most hated woman in all of Clovert. And even if I was, I didn’t care too much when I had Camden at my side.
“That will be six hundred and eighty-two dollars,” Nathan said with a smile almost as disgusting as the number he’d just rattled off.
“Six hundred dollars? For what?”
He swayed his head from side to side. “Towing, storage, security for the lot.”
“Security for the lot? You’ve had my car for one freaking day! I hardly think my 2005 Honda Accord needs a presidential detail.”
He shrugged. “Fees add up. Now, will that be cash or credit?”
“Neither! You are out of your damn mind if you think I’m paying you almost seven hundred dollars. I know for a fact Billy Dice only charges fifty bucks to tow anywhere in the city limits. He would have towed my car to Texas for less than seven hundred bucks.”
“Relax,” Camden muttered, pushing a credit card across the counter. “I’ve got it.”
I slid it right back in his direction. “Uh, no, you don’t. The only thing less likely than me paying this clown six hundred bucks to get my car back is you paying this clown six hundred bucks for me.”
“Nora, it’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is.” I looked back at Nathan. “You know what? I want to see receipts. You’re telling me you paid Billy Dice and whatever rent-a-cop you have guarding this place at night almost seven hundred dollars? Prove it. Show me the documentation and I’ll gladly pay a percentage over that. The citizens of Clovert need the jobs, but six hundred dollars is highway robbery and you know it, Officer Pollard.”
Camden grabbed my arm and gave me a tug. “Excuse us for a moment?” he told the extortionist in a uniform then once again handed him his credit card. “Go ahead and put it on that. We’ll be right back.”
“Don’t you dare charge that card!” I yelled as Camden dragged me outside.
“Would you stop?” he hissed as soon as the door shut behind us.
I yanked my arm from his grip, my shoulders still tender from my time in cuffs—and not in the fun way where Camden had spent the night and gotten a little kinky. “You aren’t paying for it.”
His expression was hard as he leaned down, getting in my face. “Yes, I am. And you’re going to hush and let me. Jesus Christ, woman, you aren’t helping your cause here. I know you’re pissed and you have every right to be, but these charges against you are serious. Honestly, a misdemeanor for some pot is the least of your worries. Do you understand aggravated assault on an officer can hold up to twenty years in prison?”
It was safe to say I did not understand that; therefore, my back shot straight and I clamped my mouth shut.
“Yeah, I see you’re getting it now.” He moved in close, one of his hands going to my hip. “I talked to the prosecution this morning. Given your track record working with the kids in the community, they are willing to at least discuss the severity of the charges. But you have to cool it with the Wonder-Woman-on-steroids act. You bit an officer yesterday, Nora.”
“I kicked Jonathan too,” I confessed because, well…it was Camden. He was my attorney and I thought he should have all the facts before he tried to defend me from twenty years in prison.
He blinked, but I swear I saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Right. Well, no more of that.”
I rested my palm on his hard chest. His hand flexed at my hip the minute I made contact, but if he could touch me, I assumed I could do the same. “I’ll do better, I promise.”
“Less Chuck Norris and more of you being a heart-of-gold first-grade teacher who spends her spare time packing bag lunches for underprivileged kids.”
“Yeah, I kn—wait. How do you know about that?”
His hand fell away from my hip so fast you’d have thought I’d caught fire. “I, um, did some digging on you last night.”
I narrowed my eyes. It was a feasible explanation. Dropping my name into Google was probably the first lesson he’d been taught in Getting To Know Your Client 101.
But it was the “um” that piqued my suspicions.
Gorgeous, powerful, somewhat cranky attorney-at-law Camden Cole was not an “um” man. And it didn’t matter if I hadn’t yet spent a full twenty-four hours with him. This version of Camden carried himself with such a confidence it teetered on arrogance—sexy, mouthwatering, tingle-inducing arrogance, but arrogance no less. Sure, the nerdy boy I’d once known who’d prattled on for hours about absolutely nothing could hem and haw with the best of ’em.
But not this guy.
Between his reaction in his car the night before when I’d grabbed his hand, that strange edge to his tone when he’d made the jab back at my house, and now an “um,” something was going on. What? I had no idea, but he wasn’t the only one who would be doing some detective work from here on out.
“I’ll behave, but I can’t let you pay to get my car out of here. Teachers aren’t exactly rolling in dough like fancy New York City attorneys, but I have a rainy-day-slash-Louboutin fund.”
A smile stretched across his obscenely handsome face. “A rainy-day-slash-Louboutin fund?”
“Yeah, it’s money I set aside every month in case of emergency…or the first-ever Louboutin clearance event. Whichever comes first.” I let out a groan and looked back at stupid Nathan Pollard through the glass door. “This month, it just happens to be pouring.”
Reaching out, he hooked his pinky with mine and shot me a grin. “Maybe, but we’ve stood in the rain together before.”
And with that, a warmth rushed through my veins and he gave me back the boy who’d stolen my heart all those years earlier.
He dropped my hand in the very next beat, but together, we walked back inside.
I signed the paperwork while he typed out a text at warp speed on his phone.
And then, side by side, we walked out to an assigned parking spot number to find my car, with four flat tires and both of the side-view mirrors broken and hanging from cables.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to go full-fledge Nora Stewart rabid-dog wild woman on the entire crooked Clovert police department.
I wanted to turn around, walk away, and never look back.
But when Camden dipped l
ow, put his lips to my ear, and whispered, “Keep it together, Chuck,” all I could do was laugh.
I lay on my bed in the hotel, my chest heaving, naked as the day I was born, my cock pissed off and deflating against my thigh. That fucking bastard and my eyes had spent all Goddamn day trying to kill me.
Yeah, Nora was fucking sexy. This was not new information. Yet I’d spent my day trying not to stare at her ass in those tight skinny jeans—or consequently adjusting my dick when my eyes had found the task impossible.
And the touches. All the fucking touches.
Hooking her arm with mine when we’d walked into Joe’s barbershop, her soft curves molding to my side.
Her thigh pressed against mine as we’d sat on the loveseat in his office, filling him in on everything from my chat with the prosecutor to which repair shop we’d had her car towed to.
Don’t even get me started on the way her shirt had gaped in the front when she’d bent over her menu at the burger place we’d gone to for lunch. Her breasts were still carved into my subconscious from our one and only night together. I did not need a reminder of how perfect they were.
And because she was Nora, the living and breathing embodiment of every dream and fantasy I’d had my entire life, I could have gotten off just from sitting across the table and listening to her talk.
Long story short: I was fucked and not in a good way.
My cock twitched at the memories, and I let out a groan, pressing my head back into the pillow. I’d already wrestled that son of a bitch into submission once in the shower and once not even thirty minutes later when he’d refused to chill the fuck out and tuck into a pair of pants without tenting the front.
And he was already swelling again?
How the fuck was I supposed to make it through dinner at Nora’s house with my cock trying to claw his way out every five fucking minutes?
I should have canceled. We’d swapped cell numbers, so I could even just puss out and send her a text about how I was tired and couldn’t make it.
But she was cooking, and when I’d dropped her off, she’d declared after the day she’d had she didn’t want to do anything but have some wine and catch up with an old friend.
And I was a sucker who would have done any and every damn thing in the world to make her happy.
Fuck. Me.
I stood up, walked over to my suitcase, and dug out a pair of boxer briefs. They weren’t quite the straightjacket I needed to keep myself in check, but they would have to do. My phone started ringing from the worn-out wicker nightstand next to the bed, and I hopped over, pulling my jeans on one leg at a time.
“Hello,” I said, doing the button-and-zip routine.
“You have one fucked-up family,” a deep voice rumbled across the line.
I planted a hand on my hip. “This is not news to me. What do you have for me, Leo?”
Leo James. Former DEA agent turned owner of Guardian Protection Agency turned jack-of-all-trades who, with the help of his team of bodyguards, security specialists, and investigators, dabbled in a little of everything in the personal protection sector. He was no nonsense and cost a fucking mint, but every single person I’d called from New York all the way to Seattle swore by him.
I’d contacted him on my way to the airport after hearing that Jonathan had Nora in lockup. I’d only gotten so far as to tell him what Josh had done to Thea and subsequently that Ramsey had spent twelve years in prison for killing him, strategically leaving out all details that could blow back on Nora, when Leo interrupted me, saying, “Fuck that motherfucker. Email me the details and I’ll get Apollo on it tonight,” and then hung up.
I did not know Apollo or how he was going to “get on it” from their home office seven hundred miles away in Chicago, but I’d sent him the details anyway.
“What I got is a folder full of Caskey fuckery. Where would you like to start? Your grandfather’s foot fetish porn collection seems like a fun jumping-off point. Though your uncle’s affair with his best friend’s wife would be my second choice.”
I curled my lip. “I’m gonna take a hard pass on both. Just give me what you got on Jonathan.”
He chuckled. “Smart man. Unfortunately, what I have on Jonathan is not as exciting. Seems he’s the only one in that muddy bloodline who knows how to lock down a damn Wi-Fi network. However, we did find one thing that might interest you. The night before your girl was arrested, Officer Caskey took down a kid named Sean Watkins on a possession charge. Nothing big, first offense, slap-on-the-wrist misdemeanor. But the interesting part is, according to police reports Caskey confiscated point eight two ounces of marijuana. Want to take a guess how much was found in your girl’s purse?”
“Point eight two ounces,” I mumbled.
“Bingo! Now it’s not the nail in the coffin you were hoping for, but we’re still working on it. In the meantime, put some pressure on him. Let him know you know about Sean Watkins. Get him on edge. He’ll fuck up eventually.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I didn’t doubt he was right about that. My fear was I wouldn’t still be in Clovert when Jonathan fucked up, but Nora would. “Will do. Thanks, Leo.”
“No problem. We’ll be in touch.”
He hung up and I sank to the edge of the bed. What the hell was I going to do when I had to leave her there? Why she even still lived in Clovert was a mystery to me, but short of kidnapping her, I had no idea what else I could do about it.
After dragging a shirt on, I called up to the police station to request a copy of the Sean Watkins arrest report. Jonathan wasn’t in the office, but I made sure to ask enough questions and said my name no fewer than a dozen times until I was positive word would get back to him.
I had an hour before I was supposed to be at her house, and while my cock had thankfully gone into hibernation at the thought of my almost eighty-year-old grandpa’s apparent foot fetish, I still had a whole night with Nora to face.
Honestly, that might have been harder than anything else. Literally and figuratively.
Ever punctual, Camden knocked on my door at seven o'clock on the dot. I drew in a deep breath and ran my fingers through my beach waves, taking a second to do one last physical inventory.
Tight, cropped skinny jeans. Check.
A pink silk camisole that was supposed to be worn under a cardigan, but it did great things for my boobs, so I did not want to cover that up. Check.
Black strappy heels—in my own house when I could have gone barefoot. Check.
A smoky eye that looked both seductive and effortless. Check.
A ball of nerves roughly the size of North America vibrating in my chest. Check. Check. Check.
God, why was I so damn nervous? Camden and I had had a great day together. He had been a little distant, but at lunch, it’d felt like he was slowly starting to come out of his shell. When he’d dropped me off at my house, he’d actually pulled into the driveway and walked me to my door, which I’d chalked up as a huge success after my dash at the curb the night before. He’d even given me a one-sided hug. That side not being his left or his right, but rather a hug from my side and a stiff acceptance from him. Whatever. Close enough.
After that, I’d spent the rest of the afternoon cooking. Since my car wouldn’t be ready for a few more days, I’d luckily gone to the grocery store semi-recently and had all the fixings for baked ham, mac and cheese, and a salad. Halfway through making the mac and cheese, I realized Camden’s body didn’t exactly lead me to believe he splurged on anything with carbs or cheese often, so I sautéed up asparagus. While I was doing that, I realized asparagus could be a very divisive vegetable. People either loved it or hated it, and I had no idea which side of the fence Camden landed on, so I then baked two sweet potatoes, stewed some tomatoes, air fried a zucchini, and chugged a glass of wine.
It could be said I was panicking, but it had been a while since I’d been on a date.
Not that Camden’s coming over for dinner was a date or anything.
We
were just two friends sharing a meal and a bottle of wine—or the three quarters of a bottle that was left, anyway.
I momentarily considered chugging another glass then talked myself out of it and headed for the door.
“Hi,” I chirped entirely too high-pitched for it to have been perceived as natural on any level.
He was in jeans again, but this time, he’d paired them with a button-down, the sleeves rolled up to show off the subtle veins on his muscular forearms. Jesus, I was seriously hard up, but when had veins become so sexy?
He opened his mouth, and I was positive he’d planned for words to follow, but as his gaze raked down my body and back up again, nothing came out.
I grinned, patting myself on the back for the extra time and thought I’d put into getting ready. “You want to come in?”
“Yeah,” he replied, stepping inside and robotically lifting a bottle of wine in my direction. “Here.”
Wow. Two whole syllables. Oh, yeah, I’d done good getting ready for my date.
Fuck. Not a date.
Not.
A.
Date.
Though the night we’d spent together in the hot tub hadn’t been a date, either, and it had turned out incredible.
“Thanks.” I shut the door and took the wine from his hand. “I already opened a bottle, but I’ll pop this one in the fridge.” I headed for the kitchen, putting an extra sway in my hips for his benefit.
“Fuck me,” he mumbled under his breath. “Fucking fuck me.”
Pretending not to hear him, I took his reaction as yet another good sign for my date, non-date. After pouring him a glass of wine and topping myself off with a heavy hand, I set his in front of him on the bar dividing my kitchen from the living room. “So, how’d the rest of your afternoon go?”
Twisting the base on the counter, he spun the stem of the glass between his thumb and his forefinger but didn’t take a sip. “Okay, I guess. I got a call from an investigator I hired to look into Jonathan.”
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