The judge and his wife had met when the senator who'd mentored Judge Coale had suggested that his own daughter accompany him to various charitable and local functions. And, Easton had to admit, they were the perfect couple.

Easton, however, saw no one similarly appropriate on his personal horizon, as he'd told the judge several times.

"Take Marianne," the judge stated, referring to another lawyer in the firm, and clearly expecting the order to be followed. "You need someone who's presentable and well-spoken. Someone who can hold her own in a conversation and knows how to avoid the quicksand of certain politically charged topics."

"Yes, but Marianne is--"

"She's perfect, son. And don't tell me you're not interested in her. That's not the point. This is a game, as you well know. Hell, as she well knows. She won't be expecting matrimony. She's savvy enough to realize that being your regular date means she'll have a chip to call in later with you."

"I don't--"

Judge Coale held up his hands. "I can't tell you what to do, s

on. I can only tell you what you should do. It's your choice whether you play the game right or not."

Easton managed not to crack a smile. "Subtle."

"I do my best." The judge pulled open the door. "Now I'm going to go see what Jordan's up to," he said, referring to the firm's senior partner.

"As always, it's been a pleasure."

"We'll talk soon," the judge said, then turned to walk down the hall as if he owned it while Easton went the opposite direction toward reception.

He pushed through the doors with a nod toward Sandy. Mostly, however, his attention had been captured by the woman in the tight black jeans and waist-skimming blouse. She was facing away from him, which was a good thing since he found himself mesmerized. She had long, lean legs, a heart shaped ass that his hands itched to palm, and short blue-tipped hair that looked so silky he could almost imagine the feel of it against his skin.

But it was when she bent forward to take a magazine off the table that his heart almost stopped. Her blouse rose, revealing her lower back in the process--along with an intricate tattoo of chain link dotted by individual roses. Some blooming. Some buds. Some dying on the vine.

His skin heated. And he was suddenly in desperate need of a glass of water.

He knew that tattoo.

Like hell this woman was Jean Rockwell. As if he'd spoken aloud, she turned around, and he found himself looking into the cunning green eyes of Selma Herrington.

"Hello, Easton." Her voice, husky and sensual and dangerously familiar, rolled over him, and he felt his cock go hard as effectively as the most potent aphrodisiac. "It's been a very long time."

Chapter Three

Never had Easton been so happy that he'd appeared in so many courtrooms in front of so many judges in so many different situations. Not only did those hours upon hours give him the experience to make him into the lawyer he was today, but they also helped him to develop an almost perfect poker face.

And that was an asset that came in pretty damn handy at the moment.

"Ms. Rockwell," he said, extending his hand. "I'm so glad you left your name. I don't think I would have recognized you."

"Really?" Selma was the kind of person whose bright smile was almost radioactive. She flashed that wide grin now, and for a moment he simply basked in its warmth. "Because you don't seem to have changed at all." Her gaze roamed over him, so slow and deliberate he had to fight the urge to pull her close and dare her to use her hands instead of her eyes.

She paused her inspection at his crotch, and he almost lost it when her teeth dragged over her lower lip before she lifted her face to his, her gaze positively smoldering. "I take it back," she said. "You're still the same. Only better."

Oh, holy hell. All he could think was that he was damn glad that his back was to Sandy and that he was blocking the receptionist's view.

That, and the pressing urgency of getting her out of the reception area before he said or did something stupid. He'd forgotten how hard it was to behave normally around Selma Herrington. Probably because all the blood in his head had raced to more southern regions.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to be professional. He also took a step back. "It's wonderful to see you again, but I'm sorry to say I'm not taking on any new clients. I'd be happy to walk you down, though, and we can catch up on the way."

"Or maybe we could chat in your office, and you can recommend someone else? I've got a time-sensitive deal brewing." She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing a bit as if she was taking his measure. "Unless you can't handle the pressure?" Her lips pressed together, and he was certain she was holding back laughter. "Of recommending someone to replace you, I mean."

"Ms. Rockwell, I assure you. No one can replace me." It was his turn to smile. "But I can help you find second best."

He nodded to Sandy, who thankfully seemed oblivious, then led Selma down the hall and into his office, shutting the door behind him

Tags: J. Kenner Man of the Month Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net