The Intern (The Dalton Family #4)(7)

“It’ll be impossible to forget.”

That was the truth even though I wished I hadn’t said it.

“I like that.” He finally glanced up again, our eyes locking. “Tell me something, Hannah. Why do you want to be a litigator?”

I checked on the bartender, hoping she was almost finished with our drinks.

She wasn’t.

“I—”

“Because no reasonable, calm, collected person wants to fight for a living,” he said, interrupting me. “There are many other types of law that don’t require you to be so argumentative, but to be a litigator”—he exhaled, a rush of excitement filling his eyes—“now, that takes a set of balls. I want to know where your balls came from.”

I laughed.

This was an easy answer.

“I grew up in a family of boys. A twin brother. Cousins who were all older than me. I hung out with them every day of my childhood. Since I was the only girl, they never wanted to listen to me. They treated me like the runt of the litter. To make them hear me, I had to be better than them. I had to fight and claw and outsmart them.” I pulled my hair to one side as a layer of sweat moved across my skin. “I couldn’t run faster, I couldn’t throw farther, but I could take any of them down with my words.”

“You learned how to win.”

“Exactly.” My laughter faded to a smile as I recalled some of the specific times I’d left those boys in a cloud of verbal dust. “My youth prepared me for this job in every possible way, so there’s never been a question about what kind of law I want to practice.”

“Sounds like you not only enjoy winning, but you also crave it.” His voice turned gritty when he emphasized the second-to-last word.

Was that true?

Did I have that competitiveness inside me?

When I had been younger, I’d felt such satisfaction because that was one less thing they could tease me about.

But now?

I tried to envision representing one of my cousins’ clients in court—something none of them could do, as they weren’t litigators—and this vicious pulse began to pump through me.

“Yes,” I responded. “I suppose I do crave it.”

“I can see it.” He reached for our second round of drinks, handing me one and taking the other. “You’re in the right field, Hannah.”

As my fingers surrounded the glass, they briefly grazed his.

That was all it took to set my skin on fire. Just that small, subtle embrace, and every nerve ending was lit, throbbing, crying out in shock waves.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He signed the credit card receipt and tucked his card away. “Tell me something else, Hannah …”

As he paused, I tried to remind myself that this was the time to ask him questions, to pick his brain, to find out the secrets of our trade—an opportunity that probably wouldn’t present itself again.

But I couldn’t.

I was completely locked up.

Speechless.

Drowning in a pool of Declan.

“When you walk into a courtroom, what’s going to be your secret weapon?” He watched as I licked my lips, and it felt as erotic as stripping off my clothes. “I’ve told you mine. I want to know yours.”

“My secret weapon,” I repeated.

“You know, not only can I read people, but I also use my reputation to my advantage. I don’t give any motherfucker a chance. I find what it’ll take to make them bleed out, and that’s where I cut them.”

I knew that.

I’d read the transcripts from his cases.

Declan gave zero fucks. He pushed limits. He tested everyone.

“A lot of girls in my class want to use their looks.”

“Is that you?”

His stare slowly dipped down my body, and I felt every inch, his eyes like fingers stroking my skin. Taking me in. Teasing me. I’d never felt anything like it, and he wasn’t even touching me.

“No.” I shook my head, trying to breathe. “It’s definitely not.”

His gaze lifted unhurriedly. Each spot he observed—my thighs, my navel, my breasts—caused a stronger sensation to build inside me.

He was more than a magician.

He had powers, and if this was just his stare, I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have his hands on me.

His lips.

His …

Oh God.

“I didn’t think it was.” He brushed his fingers over his cheek, the friction against his short whiskers made the most appealing sound. “Even though it could be.”

I took a large drink of my martini. “My plan is …” Do I have a plan? Do I even remember how to speak? “I guess I’m going to find a piece of evidence that my opponent is unable to locate and use that to make my case.”

He turned toward me. “How will you find it?”

“I’ll dig. Hunt. Whatever it takes.” But I knew I wouldn’t be alone. No litigator worked solo. They had a team of assistants, a paralegal, clerks who helped them prepare for court. “I know I’ll only be as strong as my team, so I also plan to have the best.”

A smile grew across his lips.

It couldn’t have been sexier.

“An important part, yes,” he agreed.