The smile that curves her mouth has my cock taking notice of her lips and reminds me of our night together.
Back the hell down, I mentally growl at my dick. You’re married for fuck’s sake. You already fucked up once. You can’t afford to take the chance and do it again.
It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to though. I would quite possibly give my left nut for another taste of Camila. I can’t offer my right because I no longer have it thanks to an infection I had as a baby.
The point is, I really, really want more of Camila. After only one night with her, I feel like a fucking addict.
Too bad I had to quit cold turkey and it can never happen again.
With Camila’s case being the last of the day, the bailiff asks everyone to rise. I keep my eyes averted from hers as I get up and walk through the door behind the bench. As I walk toward my chambers, I pull Camila’s name, or what I put as her name—I can’t very well put her actual name because it wouldn’t surprise me if Addison goes through my phone—up on my list of contacts. I put her in the business section just to throw Addison off if she does look at my phone. I don’t know why I did it, but while Camila was in the bathroom at the bar, I dug her phone out of her purse and found her number. I plugged it into mine, opting to not put my number into hers.
Knowing it’s foolish, and I’m playing with fire, I send her a message. The excuse I give myself is that I want to find out about the look Officer Sampton gave Camila. Something about it set my teeth on edge, and something tells me it’s more than him being pleased with giving a ticket to her. It looked personal.
That’s the reason I tell myself as I press Send. The information she gives could help authorities with the investigation against the potentially corrupt officer.
Me: Come to my chambers at 4:15. Doris, my secretary, will be gone by then, so you shouldn’t run into anyone.
Her reply doesn’t come until I’m seated behind my desk.
Baymont: How did you get my number?
Me: Not important. My chambers.
As I wait for her reply, I straighten my desk and prepare it for the next day. A glance at my phone shows it’s five minutes past four.
My phone vibrates, and I snatch it up.
Baymont: I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if I DO run into someone?
I hit reply.
Me: I’m sure you can think of a plausible excuse.
Baymont: Why do you want me to come to your chambers?
To spread you out on my desk and feast on your delectable body. To push you to your knees so I can feed you my cock. To bend you over and fuck you so hard you’ll walk with a limp for a week.
That’s what I want to respond with, but for obvious reasons, I can’t. I’m a bastard for even thinking them.
Me: Something pertaining to your case.
She doesn’t respond, and when four-fifteen comes and goes, I think she’s not going to show. That notion bothers me for more than one reason, some of them I refuse to entertain.
At four-twenty-five, there’s a soft knock on my door. Anticipation speeds up my heart rate. I clear my throat and call out, “Come in.”
The door quickly opens and Camila comes rushing in. She closes it behind her and the sound of it clicking shut echoes throughout the room. I watch with amused eyes as a second click comes.
“Did you just lock the door?” I ask.
She spins around and her wide eyes meet mine. “Yes. At least this way it gives me time to hide should someone knock.”
I chuckle as I get up from my desk. Coming around to the front, I lean against it, crossing my ankles. “I can assure you, once the work day is over, there’s not a person left in the building.”
“You can never be too careful,” she insists. “There’s a cleaning crew. And isn’t there someone who locks down the building once it’s completely empty?” Her eyes dart around the room before they move back to me. “What did you want to see me about?”
I’m momentarily distracted so I don’t catch her question at first. My attention is too focused on the outfit she’s wearing. Or rather, the button at the top of her blouse that’s come undone, which is giving a tempting tease of her cleavage. It wasn’t like that in the courtroom, and if I didn’t know any better, I would say she purposely unsnapped it. But it’s plain to see how nervous she is. In my chambers, alone with me, is the last place she wants to be, so it wouldn’t make sense for her to tempt me.
I mentally shake my head and bring myself back to the moment. Lifting a hand, I gesture to the couch set off against one wall.