Sustained (The Legal Briefs 2)

boy’s ass in a sling.”

“Fuck that,” I growl. “Besides, a public servant has no business owning a car like that.”

I don’t know if it’s because I have a hard-on for his aunt or because he reminds me so much of myself, but if anyone wants a piece of that kid they’ll have to come through me first.

“Okay,” Lisa says. “Then what are you offering?”

“Court-mandated therapy, once a week. Monthly progress reports.”

“Twice a week,” she counters. “And I want to pick the therapist. No feel-good quacks permitted.”

“Done.”

Lisa’s gaze travels over me, head to crotch. “I’m surprised by you, Jake. I don’t remember you being so . . . soft.”

I move forward, bracing my hands on the arms of her chair—caging her in. “ ‘Soft’ isn’t in my vocabulary—I’m still as hard as they come.” I smirk. “And after.”

Her eyes settle on my mouth. “Good to hear. Particularly since Ted and I broke up.” She holds up her ringless left hand.

Lisa definitely falls under the “known” category, which means no awkward first-date dinner conversation, no twenty goddamn questions that I don’t want to ask, let alone answer. Nope—it’ll be straight to the fucking.

Excellent.

“It’s a long story,” she says. “Which I’m sure you have no interest in hearing.”

Yes, Lisa knows me well.

“You still like tequila?” I ask.

“Absolutely. You still have my number?”

“I do.”

Her smile is slow and full of promise. “Good. Use it.”

I stand up and walk toward the door. “I’ll do that.”

“And I’ll get started on the paperwork.”

• • •

A few hours later, after approval from child services and a quick compulsory appearance before an indifferent judge, Rory walks out of the courthouse with us. We head back to my office to gather his many siblings. They all seem happy to see him—if the affectionate “stupid idiot” and eager questions about his stay in “jail” are any indication. The sky is dark by the time I escort Chelsea and her charges back out to her car. I wait next to the driver’s-side door as she gets them loaded and buckled in.

Then she comes around and stands in front of me, all warm eyes and soft gratitude. And I’m struck again by the smooth flawlessness of her skin beneath the glow of the streetlight.

Fucking gorgeous.

This close, I notice the adorable dusting of freckles across the bridge of that pert nose and wonder if she has them anywhere else. It’ll take a slow, exhaustive search to find out. And I’m just the guy for the job.

She pushes her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Jake, so much. I don’t know what I would’ve—”

“Aunt Chelsea, I’m starving!”

“Can we get McDonald’s?”

“Do you know what they put in McDonald’s? Even insects won’t eat it.”

“Shut up, Raymond! Don’t ruin fast food for me!”

“You shut up!”

“No, you shut up!”

“Aunt Chelsea!”

“Hiiiiiii!”

I can’t help but laugh. And wonder if she owns earplugs.

Chelsea blows out a breath through her perfect, smiling lips. “I should go before they start eating each other.”

“That might not be a bad thing. There are enough of them to spare.”

She shakes her head and climbs into the truck, then rolls down the window to say, “Thank you again. I owe you, Jake.”

I tap the side of the truck as she slowly pulls away. “Yes, you do.”

And that’s a debt I can’t wait to collect.

Soon.

8

Scorching lips suck at the skin along my neck—teeth nipping, tongue-laving suction. Nails scrape along my abs, across my chest, blazing a hard trail of need that leads straight to my cock. Deft fingers work the buttons on my shirt and hot blood pools in my pelvis.

It’s been so long—too long—but the dry spell ends tonight.

Fucking finally.

I cradle her face in my hands and move my mouth over hers roughly. My tongue plunges and swirls, tasting tequila. So good.

Friday afternoon, I got around to dialing Lisa DiMaggio. Because I learn from my mistakes, I asked about her and Ted’s breakup—it wasn’t because of cheating. Then I asked if she’d been tested recently. Miraculously she had, and she was clean. It was like the universe was telling me, “You’ve suffered enough, poor man.”

We made plans for her place on Friday night, and I brought a bottle of Patrón for Lisa and a bottle of red wine for me that I ended up leaving in the car.

Lisa peels open my shirt, running her palms across my pecs and over my shoulders. “God, your tattoos.” She moans appreciatively, tracing the ink first with her hands, then with her lips. “These are so fucking hot. They’re my favorite part.”

I work on her earlobe, flicking at it with my tongue like it’s a clit. And I chuckle. “I thought my cock was your favorite.”

She giggles against my skin. “Guess I need my memory refreshed.”

Works for me.

I’m just about to start doing some unbuttoning of my own when my phone lights up, vibrating on the coffee table near the couch we’re sitting on. I glance at the screen but don’t recognize the number and let it go to voice mail.

I palm her tit over her blouse. Her blond hair slides over her shoulders as Lisa arches her back, moaning.

And the phone rings again. Same number.

What the fucking fuck?

I pull back. “I should answer that.”

Lisa shrugs and pours herself another shot of tequila, licking her hand and dashing it with salt as I stand and bring my phone to my ear. “Becker.”

“Hey, Becker! It’s Paul Noblecky, how ya doing?”

I was doing a hell of a lot better two minutes ago.

“I’m in the middle of something.” My eyes zero in on Lisa’s shapely thighs beneath her black dress—that’s really where I’d like to be in the middle of. “Make it quick. What do you need, Paul?”

“Well, we broke up a beer party out on Cambridge Place tonight. A high school thing, parents were away. A few of the kids were pretty wasted so we brought them to the station to dry out and call their parents. One of the girls, she won’t give us her name—only your business card. Says you’re her lawyer, Becker.”

My eyes roll closed. And I just know.

“Let me guess—brown curly hair, about five two, blue eyes, piss-poor attitude?”

Noblecky chuckles. “That’s her.”

I rub my forehead, feeling a migraine coming on—because the blue balls has most likely traveled to my brain. “Her name’s Riley. Her aunt’s the legal guardian.” I rattle off Chelsea’s phone number, which I got from her on Wednesday.

“Thanks, Becker—I’ll call the aunt, have her come get the kid.”

It’s late—after midnight. But I’m not going to think about how Chelsea will have to get all those other kids out of bed, including the baby and the little two-year-old. Put their coats on, buckle them in the car. In the dark.

All by herself.

That’s not my fucking problem. My problem is the rock-hard dick between my legs that will probably strangle me in my sleep if I don’t get him some action soon.

I hang up the phone and lean back on the couch beside Lisa. She grins, slightly buzzed. “Work stuff?”

“Yeah—nothing important.”

She palms my junk. “Not like this—this is really important.”

I thrust against her hand and lean over. “I do like a woman who has her priorities straight.”

Then we’re kissing again. And it’s nice.

But . . . I still can’t shake the image of Chelsea and the kids. The tiny blonde with the big blue eyes, Raymond squinting wearily as he puts his glasses on. I imagine them down at the precinct—it’s not the safest

area to be in, especially after midnight. I imagine them driving, Chelsea yawning, possibly not noticing an oncoming car that’s swerved into her lane, not until—

“Shit!” I pull back, breathing hard. “I have to go.”

“What?” Lisa whines. “No . . . no, stay. Important things, remember? All the fabulous fucking we were going to do. Important.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” And I mean I’m really, really fucking sorry. “There’s a thing and I have to handle it myself.”

Lisa flops backward, resting her head on the arm of the couch, still hot and bothered. “You’re killing me, Becker.”

I stand up, rebuttoning my shirt. And my cock is furious. “Rain check?”

“Sure.” Lisa sighs. Then she smirks flippantly. “At least you got me all warmed up for Mr. Pink. I’ll be thinking of your gorgeous tattoos when I play with him.”