Sustained (The Legal Briefs 2)

“Presley looks great, doesn’t she?” he asks in a sighing voice while he watches the blond-haired, sunshiny thirteen-year-old hold up the back of Sofia’s dress as she gets out of the limo.

I’ll be damned.

“You know she’s older than you?” I ask him.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m gonna bide my time. Then, when I own my own multibillion-dollar software company, I’ll make my move.”

I smack him on the back and his glasses go crooked. “Sounds like a plan, Raymond.”

• • •

Stanton and Sofia’s wedding goes off without a hitch. Her dress is the perfect blend of sexy and stunning: ivory, beaded, and clinging with a teasing dip of cleavage that made Stanton stare. They both got choked up during the vows, and it was just damn good to see them both so happy.

The reception is an elegant, white-glove affair at the DC Ritz-Carlton. Stanton practically flew the entire town of Sunshine, Mississippi, in, and in addition to Sofia’s brothers and their families, she has a couple dozen relatives visiting from Brazil. Needless to say, it’s good food, good drinks, and really good people.

Rosaleen finds me by the bar, her hair curled into Shirley Temple ringlets, her blue eyes wide with excitement. “Jake! You didn’t say anything about my lip gloss! Riley let me use hers—isn’t it pretty?”

“You’re gorgeous, Gorgeous. As beautiful as your aunt.”

She grins even wider, and I laugh as she grabs Rory by the arm and pulls him onto the dance floor to dance with her.

Momma Shaw, Stanton’s mother, regards me with an appraising eye. “You know, Jake, I’ve seen you smile more in the last thirty minutes than you have the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Well, I have seven pretty amazing reasons to smile now.”

She pats my arm as I walk over to Chelsea. On the way, I pass Brent talking to Stanton’s sister Mary—channeling Pee-wee Herman.

“You don’t want to get involved with a guy like me, Mary. I’m a loner, a rebel . . .”

Chelsea’s arms wrap around my neck and we sway on the dance floor to some slow song.

“Guess what?” she asks.

I brush my nose against hers. “What?”

“I was just talking to your mother. She and Owen offered to take the kids back to the house tonight and stay over. Soooo . . . I booked a room here, for you and me.”

“Fuck, you’re brilliant,” I murmur. “Have I ever told you how much I love your mind?”

“I thought you loved my body,” she says teasingly, pressing it against me up-close and personal.

“Oh, I do, believe me. I’ll give you a thorough demonstration of how much I love it tonight—and tomorrow.”

“And we’re sleeping in tomorrow—Mr. Five A.M.,” she says insistently.

I smirk. “Well, we’ll be in bed . . . but there won’t be much sleeping going on.”

Chelsea rests her head against my chest. “Sounds perfect.”

It does, doesn’t it?

I don’t mean to brag, but like everything else in my life these days, it sounds perfect because . . . it really. Fucking. Is.

Keep reading for a sneak peek at Brent’s story in

APPEALED

The third book in New York Times bestselling author Emma Chase’s sexy Legal Briefs series

Coming Fall 2015 from Gallery Books!

Prologue

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away . . .

“Kennedy?” Brent Mason’s voice whispered. “Are you awake?”

She wasn’t supposed to be; her mother had tucked her into bed long ago. A wonderful bed, fit for a princess. Hand-carved mahogany columns at each corner, with an arched satin canopy that hovered above her like a puffy cloud, draped with white sheer curtains on the sides. Her head rested on the fluffiest down pillow, and cashmere blankets kept her snug and warm. It was one of the many beds, in one of the many rooms, at Mason Castle. No one else called it a castle, but that’s how she always thought of it, with its winding gardens, grand double staircase, the two-story library, the endless hallways, and especially, the ballroom.

“Kennedy!” The whisper was louder now, bouncing with impatience.

“Shhh! Yes, I’m awake!”

Kennedy slid from the bed and donned her slippers and tied her pink robe, all without turning on the bedside lamp, which might give them away.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to make out his robe-clad form just inside the room, beckoning her with his hand.

“Did it start yet?” she whispered, reaching him.

The dark, wavy hair that hung over his forehead swayed as he shook his head. “But before we go, you have to swear on your eyeballs you won’t tell anyone about the new spot. I’m the only one who knows about it—and now you’ll know.”

“My eyeballs?”

Brent’s blue eyes were solemn as he explained, “That means if you break your promise, your eyeballs will explode.”

Kennedy’s hands reflexively rose to her temples. She didn’t want them to explode. She also liked the spot they had used for the last four years: the velvet-cushioned window seat in the red bedroom at the end of the east wing, which allowed them to see everything.

But Brent had told her yesterday that he’d found a new secret place—the very best. He’d been so excited, and now she was excited, too. “I swear on my eyeballs, I’ll never tell.”

Brent nodded, then he cracked the door open to look and listen. Everyone—guests and servants alike—was downstairs, making their way from the ballroom to the rear veranda for the big show.

The Mason’s New Year’s Eve party at their estate on the Potomac River was a legendary affair. It was also tradition—their families, and close friends like Kennedy’s family, were invited to spend the night and the days that followed. Unlike Kennedy’s older sister or Brent’s numerous cousins, the two of them were considered too young to stay up for the midnight festivities.

But they had a secret tradition of their own.

With Brent leading the way, they padded quickly to the east wing of the house, through the little door at the end of the hall—the entrance to the third-floor crawl space. On her hands and knees behind him, Kennedy felt just like Alice from Alice in Wonderland, and her heart thrummed with anticipation. They arrived in a small, dark, windowless room. They stood up and Brent switched on his flashlight. There was a staircase in front of them, steep and dusty.

“Be careful,” Brent warned. “Some of the steps are uneven.”

They climbed the steps single file and Kennedy gasped when they arrived at the top. Alice may have crawled into a beautiful garden—but this was so much better than a garden. It was an attic. There were boxes and trunks, paintings and mirrors, furniture and books, and more dresses sheathed in protective plastic than she could count.

It was magical.

Kennedy wanted to touch everything, explore every corner. Maybe there was a treasure map up here. Or, even better, ghosts! Maybe they could have a séance and speak to them.

Brent watched Kennedy’s mouth go round in wonder. He’d known she’d love it. She wasn’t like any other girl he knew. She didn’t burst into tears if her shoes got muddy, like his cousin Charlotte did. She didn’t scream if she saw a spider, like her sister, Claire, did. She hated her daily violin lessons, and never worried about tearing her dress while climbing a tree. Kennedy was an adventurer. She wanted to run and go, to see and do.

And like him, she was fearless.

He glanced at the ladder that led up to the loft. “Come on, it’s going to start soon. We’ll come back here tomorrow.”

She was still gazing around the massive attic as she nodded. “All right.”

Kennedy went up the ladder first. She was small for her age and Brent was big, so he could catch her if her foot slipped. In the ceiling of the loft there was an access door, and Brent pushed it open and hoisted himself through, then reached down his hand to Kennedy. Up she went, and the two nine-ye

ar-olds found themselves on the flat peak of the roof of Mason Castle.

The sky was a black blanket above them, filled with infinite stars, so big and bright, Kennedy felt like she could reach out and pluck one from the night. She turned in a circle, her blond hair fanning out as she gazed toward the heavens. “You were right—this is the best!”

Brent grinned, then grabbed Kennedy’s hand when she got too close to the edge, where the roof sloped steeply, with nothing to stop her from sliding right off. “Watch out!”

He led her to the end, near one of the five chimneys, and they sat down close to each other; it was very cold. When Kennedy’s teeth started to chatter, Brent put his arm around her, and she snuggled into his warmth. They could hear the tinkling of champagne flutes, the hum of conversation and laughter from the guests far below them. As they waited, they talked.

“. . . so they let me quit fencing and start lacrosse instead. It’s awesome.”

“You’re so lucky!” Kennedy cried. “Mother said I couldn’t stop ballet even if my leg was broken. She said I’m going to marry a prince, and no prince wants a princess who doesn’t know how to dance.”

Music floated up from the band downstairs, and Kennedy wondered if her sister was dancing. “Claire likes your cousin Louis. She said she’s going to kiss him at midnight.”

Brent’s nose wrinkled. “Why?”

That’s what Kennedy had asked, interrupting her sister’s conversation with Brent’s sixteen-year-old cousin, Katherine.

“She said that’s what you do at midnight. Kiss the boy you like.”

Claire had also confessed her hope that Louis would be her escort to the debutante ball in Paris in the spring. She’d said a kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve was something special—something a boy wouldn’t forget.

Then a chorus of voices surged from the veranda below. “10, 9, 8 . . .”

Kennedy stared up at Brent’s profile. He was as handsome as any hero in a storybook. And he was brave and kind and noble, as any prince should be.

“. . . 4, 3, 2, 1 . . .”