This naturally leads me to conclude that they are very close, otherwise she would never have casually mentioned something like that.
"Are you fucking her?" I grit out, completely annoyed over the surge of jealousy that just flowed through me.
Ford is now the one who rears back from me, surprise in his eyes. "No, I'm not fucking her. What kind of question is that?"
His voice sounds firm and confident in his denial, but there's something in his eyes that seems a bit secretive. I ignore his question, instead pushing him on his relationship with Leary. "What exactly is your relationship, then? Why would she ever tell you what happened at the courthouse?"
"Because we're friends," Ford says defensively. "Very good friends. I was her supervising attorney when she first started at the firm, and she's a partner, by the way, not an associate attorney."
"She's a partner?" I ask, astounded. "She can't be more than twenty-eight."
"She's twenty-nine, and she earned it. She's got a hundred percent win record, which I don't have to tell you is almost impossible to achieve."
I whistle through my teeth, considering that and feeling for the first time in my legal career perhaps a bit intimidated. Not only is Leary the most confident and sexiest woman I've ever met but she uses her confidence and sex appeal like a weapon, which coupled with her apparent legal prowess means I need to bring my A game to this war.
"Look, man," Ford says, sounding a bit more conciliatory, "not cool what you did."
I snort and then take a sip of beer. I give Ford the stink eye. "She started it."
"Seriously?" he asks with his jaw dropping. "You're going with 'she started it'?"
"Well, she did, and let me tell you . . . she has some metaphorical balls forged of steel and lined with platinum. I'm assuming she told you what she did to me in the elevator?"
"Yeah, she did, but--"
"And did she tell you she also completely assassinated my character in front of the judge and trampled all over my man card in open court?"
"No, she didn't say that, but--"
"For fuck's sake, Ford." I turn on my stool to look at him. "She practically fucking dared me to do that to her. And just so you don't have any doubts, she liked it."
"How could you even know she liked--"
"And before you even think about keeping that perch on your high horse, you should know she was in my office this afternoon flashing her metaphorical platinum-and-steel balls around, with her hand wrapped around my cock. Now, I can tell you I most certainly liked that, but I'm betting you already know by the look on your face . . . so did she."
Ford's jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he might hit me. But then I see something close to sadness filtering into his eyes, followed maybe by regret. He blows out a frustrated breath and turns away to take a swallow of beer.
Treading carefully, unsure of what this is, I ask, "Are you sure you don't have something going on with Leary?"
Staring at his glass, he shakes his head. "No, man. We're just really good friends. I care about her, but nothing past that."
"Ford," I say insistently, making it clear I don't want him fucking around with me. "Truth time."
Swiveling his head toward me, he finally admits, "Yeah, in the past we fucked around. But never anything serious."
"Christ," I mutter, picking my own beer up and taking a healthy swallow. This presents a major problem. Regardless of what I learned from Ford, my intention was to pursue Leary Michaels outside the courtroom. All afternoon I kept thinking of her hand on my dick, and I knew that I couldn't just let this attraction go.
But now things have changed. Ford clearly has feelings, and shit . . . he's admitted to fucking her, which I do not like one bit. Not because I'm proprietary. We don't have any type of relationship to be proprietary about.
It changes things because Ford is a friend, and that tiny bit of sadness in his eyes has me feeling like I need to back completely the fuck up and walk away.
"Listen, man," I start, trying to make myself as clear as possible, "I don't want to step in between you and Leary. You're my friend first. I promise, from now on, nothing but aboveboard professionalism from me."
Ford doesn't say anything for a moment, and then he gives me a wry smile. "She likes you."
"Pardon me?"
"She likes you," he says with a wave of his hand. "Likes your ego, your confidence. Likes your cunning. She's intrigued by you."
"How do you know this?" I ask skeptically.
"Because she's talked about you. I didn't know it was you she was talking about, but she told me enough."
"Doesn't matter," I say, but he cuts me off.
"There is nothing between me and Leary. Just a close friendship. You two are free to . . . well, whatever it is you're doing."
I don't know what to say. The friend in me wants to argue with him and insist I'll stay away, but the vast majority of me is celebrating a victory I didn't even know I was in the running for.
Ford drains the rest of his beer, pushes the glass away, and stands up. "I gotta get going. Thanks for the beer."
"Yeah, sure," I say distractedly, not quite sure where we stand with each other.
Ford starts to walk away but then turns back. "Don't hurt her, Reeve. You two are walking a fine ethical line by fucking around with each other. I get you needing to defend your case, but you need to know that this case has personal merit to Leary. Don't use this personal shit to fuck her over. I will not be happy."
"I would never do that," I assert, because I wouldn't. I have absolutely no doubt that if anything is to transpire sexually between the two of us, it can be done outside the bounds of this case.
Besides, it's just a fuck . . . or two, or maybe even three.
Regardless, it's not like we want to date each other.
It's just a fuck, I tell myself firmly.
CHAPTER 5
LEARY
Ford is unusually silent as he drives us to a charity event hosted by our regional trial lawyers' association. It's the one time of the year that plaintiff's and defense lawyers put down their gloves and come together to raise money for a selected charity, this year for Alzheimer's.
Ford and I made plans a few months ago to go to this thing together. It's not a black-tie affair, but it's dressy enough that I have on an above-the-knee cocktail dress in sapphire blue, and Ford is looking handsome in a dark-gray suit and a cobalt-blue tie with thin gray ribbons of color dissecting it on the diagonal.
"Cat got your tongue?" I ask him cheekily.
He turns to look at me, and even though it's dark outside, the neon-blue lights from the interior electronics cast the angles of his face handsomely. He gives me a tiny smirk, then reaches his hand out to my bare knee for a squeeze.
It's friendly enough, but it feels odd to me for some reason. I suspect it might have something to do with the fact I can't seem to get Reeve Holloway out of my mind. Since our moment in his office four days ago, he seems to be spending obsessive amounts of time in my mind.
He hasn't contacted me and I sure as hell haven't contacted him. I thought a time or two about sending a business-related e-mail, but then immediately put it out of my mind. I plan to leave the ball in his court for now and concentrate on the merits of the case--not on how unbelievably big his dick is.
"I met a good friend for a beer a few nights ago," Ford says, cutting into my thoughts. His hand inches its way up my thigh.
"Oh, yeah?" I ask cordially while my heart starts beating quickly. Not because what Ford is doing to me is necessarily arousing, but because I'm actually considering telling him to stop, and I'm not sure how.
"Yeah, I think you know him," he says mysteriously.
"Who?" I ask.
Ford squeezes my thigh, his fingers pressing deep into my muscles, and then he pulls his hand away. His voice is a little tight when he says, "Reeve Holloway."
"What?" I exclaim, turning in the seat toward him. "You know Reeve?"
Ford nods. "Met las
"What exactly did he say?" I ask hesitantly.
"Hmm," he says while rubbing a forefinger thoughtfully over his chin. "He wanted to know if you and I are fucking."
My jaw drops, because why in the world would Reeve ever think to ask Ford that?
"And," Ford continues, "he said you went to his office, taunted him, and then wrapped your hand around his cock."
I groan and fling myself back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest. "I can't believe he told you that."
"Well, in fairness, I sort of berated it out of him," Ford concedes. "It's not like he was kissing and telling."
I chew on my bottom lip, trying to imagine that conversation. While Ford and I are close, and we've been fuck buddies who've stepped away from each other when we were interested in someone else, we've never shared details of our other sexual relationships with each other. It just seemed . . . poor form or something.
Ford starts slowing down so he can turn in to the parking lot of the Marriott Hotel where the charity silent auction will be held.
Turning my head so I can gauge his honest reaction, I ask him, "Are you okay with this?"
Ford snickers. "We're not exclusive, Leary. If you're interested in him, I back away. You know that."
"I'm not interested in him," I mutter. "I was trying to intimidate him. Test him. Get the upper hand. Throw him off his game."
"Fine, then," he says as he pulls into a parking space and puts the car in park. Taking off his seat belt, he leans across the seat toward me, slips his hand back on my thigh, and murmurs, "Let's blow this party and go back to my place."
"What? No," I say quickly, pushing at his hand with no success. "I want to go to this charity event."
Releasing his grip from my leg, he reaches up and tweaks me on the nose. He grins and says, "You're cute when you lie, you know that?"
"Whatever," I say as I turn to open the car door.
"He's going to be here," Ford says, and I instantly go still, my hand hesitating on the handle. It crossed my mind, and the thought was making my heart thump and my girlie parts tingle. "Tell me to back away, Leary. You've done it before when you wanted to pursue someone."
My shoulders sag as I sigh and pull on the door handle. It opens and I step out, taking a moment to smooth down my dress. Leaning back down, I look inside the car, Ford's face now completely awash in light. "I want you to back away," I tell him quietly.
He nods at me with a smile, and I close the door.
I didn't tell Ford to back away because I'm interested in a relationship with Reeve. There's no way that could happen, not with us on opposite sides of an emotionally explosive case.
But I am intrigued by him, and I can't say I'm hating our sexual flirtations. So I can't in good conscience continue something with Ford. I might be liberal and open-minded when it comes to my sexuality, but I don't mess around with two men at the same time.
I'm also not averse to no-strings, hot and steamy sex. Maybe I'll cross that line with Reeve and maybe I won't, but I know I needed Ford to back away, leaving me to continue this war I have going on with Reeve.
Ford is off talking to some peers about boring shit like golf. I've already put in my bids on a few items for the silent auction, but I hate this networking shit, so now I sit at the bar just off the lobby entrance wanting a little time away from the music, dancers, and egotistical attorneys swarming the ballroom.
The bar is a massive, square-shaped unit that can seat probably ten people on each side. Maybe because it's a Tuesday night and not much is happening during the week, or maybe because everyone is in the ballroom for the charity event, the bar is completely devoid of people except for me and the young bartender who's been shooting me flirty looks since I arrived.
My back is to the windows that overlook the Raleigh skyline, and I have an open view of the hotel lobby so I can catch Ford if he's looking for me. Otherwise, I'm completely happy here in my little bubble, being left alone so I can ruminate about Jenna's case and the problematic defense attorney with whom I have to deal.
I sip my martini and then swirl the skewered olives around in the glass. I've been here for forty minutes and no sign of Reeve. I'm thinking of catching a cab home, not wanting to impose on Ford for a ride since it looks like he's having a good time.
A warm hand presses to my lower back, and hot breath spreads over my bared shoulder. Lips to my ear, someone presses in close, and I recognize Reeve by the sexual confidence oozing off him. I have no clue how he sneaked by my watch. Probably while I was staring at my olives.
"Don't you look lonely sitting here all by yourself," he breathes into my ear. I can't control the shiver that runs up my spine.
I slowly look at him, making a point to uncross my legs and recross them, knowing it pulls my cocktail dress a little higher up my leg. Another inch and he'll be able to see the black lace of the stockings he bought me.
Not missing a thing, that man, his gaze goes down to my legs. He fingers the edge of my dress casually, slipping just the tip of his finger under it. Raising his eyes to mine, he asks, "Are those my stockings?"
"My stockings," I correct him with a smile. "But yes . . . they're the ones you bought."
"Am I going to get to see them tonight?" he asks with a boyish grin, tugging on the end of my skirt.
"You've already seen them. You bought them, after all," I quip.
"Tease," he murmurs with an amused smile, and his hand falls away from my leg. I find it amusing myself that I'm disappointed by the loss of his touch.
Reeve orders Woodford Reserve neat. I fiddle with my olives while his drink is made. After the glass is set down in front of him and he pays, he turns his attention back to me by propping his right arm up on the bar, his left casually resting on the back of my chair.
"So, I'm curious," he begins as I take another sip of my martini. "All this stripping and cock grabbing . . . is that what I can continue to expect as we proceed through this case?"
"Why? Don't you like it?" I purr in a sympathetic tone.
Reeve chuckles and his left hand reaches out to caress my shoulder briefly before returning to the back of my chair. "On the contrary, I like it very much. It's just that I've never met someone who uses so much more than just regular legal tactics to win a case. It means I have to change my tactics."
"Well, don't expect me to divulge all my battle plans to you. I don't want you prepared for what I'm going to throw your way."
Mischief fills Reeve's eyes and he gives me a wide grin. "Looking forward to it. But I'm also curious--do you fight like this with every other male defense attorney you come up against?"
I hear a bit of censure in his voice, maybe jealousy. I bat my eyelashes at him. "Only if the case is important enough."
Reeve actually grimaces slightly and his voice is slightly strained. "Have you ever had a case this important before?"
"No," I tell him softly. Because it's true. I haven't.
I might have had cases that were bigger and worth more money, but never one as personally important before.
"What makes this case so special?" he asks, his head tilted in curiosity.
"That is none of your business," I say firmly, hardening my gaze against his inquisitiveness. There's no way I would ever tell Reeve about my motivations. Only Midge and Ford are privy to that information, and I only told them so they understand that there aren't many lines I won't cross in the pursuit of victory for Jenna.
Reeve stares at me, then gives a slight nod of acceptance. He swivels his head to look around, and I notice that the bartender has his back to us, watching a baseball game on one of the TVs mounted on the wall. Satisfied with the small measure of privacy we have at this moment, Reeve looks back at me. "Now let me see a little bit of those stockings."
My breath hitches as his gaze drags down to my lap and his left arm leaves the back of my chair. He turns his body to shield me from the bartender and takes the edge of my skirt in between his index finger and thumb. He drags it up slowly--just a few inches are all that's really needed before the lace edges are revealed. Reeve turns his hand and runs his knuckles over my skin that's peeping out.
"Spread your legs," he murmurs, giving my thigh a nudge.
I tilt to the side again, confirming that the bartender has his back to us. No one else is in the bar, although I can see several people walking in and out of the lobby not thirty feet away. Still, Reeve has me blocked from anyone's view.
My legs slowly uncross, but they're not spread enough for Reeve's liking. He sticks his hand in between my thighs and gives another nudge. "Farther."
I comply, thrilled and frightened at the same time that we could be caught. My heartbeat is hammering and prickles of excitement race across my skin.
Reeve angles his head to the right slightly so he can get a better view, using his hand to inch my skirt up a little higher. He smiles approvingly then lifts his gaze to mine. "Black lace panties sort of your thing?"
"I have other colors," I say tartly.
"I like the black lace," he says offhandedly, then immediately inches his finger underneath the elastic at my hip.
"Reeve," I say in a whispered gasp. "Don't."
He ignores me, running his finger over me and inching farther down to where I know he's going to find me starting to get soaked.
My hand flies to his wrist in a feeble attempt to halt his progress, but he's too strong, and really, I don't want him to stop.
"We'll get caught," I say.
"So what?" he murmurs, the tip of his finger now running up and down my folds. His gaze is pinned to his hand between my legs, lustful fascination filling his eyes.
The fact he doesn't care if we get caught is a turn-on, and even though I'm afraid we'll get busted at any moment, my legs spread even wider.
Reeve gives a barely audible groan and then easily slides his index finger inside me. My lips part, my eyes close, and I let my breath out in a shaky stutter, trying to control my reaction. It most certainly would not be good to let out the deep moan that's swirling inside my chest.
"Fuck, this is hot," Reeve whispers, curling his finger inside me before relaxing it to slide out. Leaving me partially unshielded, Reeve removes his right arm from the bar. Before I can protest, he uses both hands to roughly pull my panties to the side, completely baring my pussy to him. Then his right arm goes back up on the wooden surface, his body turns again to hide me, and I have to wonder if the bartender is still watching the TV or us.
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